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http://www.archive.org/details/frontierarmysketOOsteerich 


FRONTIER 


ARMY  SKETCHES 


By  JAMES  W^  STEELE,    \  ^^0-^'^Oi::y 


*  *  *  "  Vulgar,  again !  everybody  ha.s  a  different  sense  for  that 
word,  I  think.    What  is  vulgar?  '^ 

Christie.  "Voolgar  folk  sit  on  an  chair,  ane,  twa,  whiles  three 
hours,  eatin'  an'  abune  a'  drinkin\  as  still  as  hoegs,  or  gruntin'  puir 
every -day  clashes,  goessip,  rubbich ;  w'hen  ye  are  aside  them,  ye  might 
as  weel  be  aside  a  cuddy ;  they  canna  gie  ye  a  sang,  they  canna  gie 
ye  a  story,  they  canna  think  ye  a  thoucht,  to  save  their  useless  lives ; 
that's  voolgar  folk." — Charles  Reade. 


CHICAGO: 

JANSEN,  McCLURG  &  COMPANY, 

'  1883, 


Copyright, 

By  JANSEN,  McCLURG  &  CO. 

A.D.  1882. 


KNISHT    i^  I.EDNAH.D 


j,^Ub««' 


PREFACE. 


THERE  is  an  interesting  phase  of  American  life  that 
has  hitherto  had  its  chief  chronicler  in  the  dime 
novel  and  its  most  frequent  interpreter  in  the  blood-and- 
terror  drama.  Only  two  or  three  authors,  and  among 
them  the  foremost  humorists  of  their  time,  seem  to  have 
truly  seen,  and  having  seen,  to  have  been  able  to  make 
others  see,  the  unwritten  and  unconscious  poetry  and  the 
dramatic  character  of  those  isolated  lives  that,  care- 
less of  themselves,  pass  away  in  the  process  of  erect- 
ing an  empire  whose  boundless  horizon,  whose  toils  and 
pains,  whose  untrodden  loneliness,  have  all  combined  to 
form  a  class  in  which  the  characters  of  the  desperado 
and  the  gentleman  have  strangely  united  their  charac- 
teristics; where  love,  longing,  and  hope  exist  without 
any  of  their  appropriate  surroundings,  and  where  grim 
humor  and  deep  feeling,  lacking  all  their  usual  forms, 
find  expression  not  in  words  alone  but  in  every  act  of 
life. 

Beneath  all  the  melancholy  loneliness  of  wide  plains, 
and  the  monotonous  and  oppressive  sternness  of  moun- 
tains that  lie  changeless  forever,  there  is  a  subtle  some- 
thing that  cannot  be  described,  or  drawn,  or  clearly 
defined;  a  something  that  distinguishes  everything  from 
that  which  it  most  resembles;  that  makes  a  portrait  to 
differ  from  the  cold  outlines  of  a  photograph,  and  a  face 
to  differ  from  both.  To  capture  this  essence  of  descrip- 
tion and  cause  it  to  appear  in  words  upon  the  printed 
page,  is  the  task  of  genius;   and   the   author  does  not 


PREFACE. 


flatter  himself  that  he  has  accomplished  it.  He  is  only 
certain  that  it  is  not  enough  to  reproduce  the  impres- 
sions made  upon  the  eye  and  ear,  and  that  if  there  be 
something  more  than  that  between  the  lines  of  these 
sketches,  the  public  will  discover  it. 

These  scenes  are  not  inventions,  and  these  men  and 
women  not  mere  figments  of  the  brain.  During  years  of 
association  with  them,  they  produced  certain  impressions 
that  time  has  not  dissipated,  that  have  ripened  with 
absence,  and  that,  given  in  fragments  imperfectly,  and 
touched  upon  in  transient  articles,  are  now  for  the  first 
time,  but  finally,  given  to  the  public  in  a  form  of  some 
arrangement  and  compactness.  They  have  been  valu- 
able as  a  private  and  personal  possession.  They  have 
furnished  food  for  pleasant  thought  amid  the  vicissi- 
tudes, labors,  perplexities,  and  endless  changes  that 
come  to  every  man.  It  may  be  a  mistake  to  suppose 
that  the  aroma  exhaled  from  such  Recollections  may  be 
conveyed  to  the  reader's  senses  also;  yet  it  is  with 
something  of  that  hope,  that  these  legends  of  the  camp- 
fire,  and  sketches  of  the  soldier,  the  borderer,  and  the 
dumb  denizens  of  the  wilderness,  are  given  to  the  read- 
ing world. 

General  Orders  and  the  reports  of  district  command- 
ers are  but  dull  reading,  and  there  is  no  colder  volume 
than  the  "  Regulations."  Officers  of  the  army  are  not 
greatly  given  to  the  platform  and  the  monthly  magazine, 
and  what  they  know  and  might  so  easily  relate  they 
seem  purposely  to  be  silent  about.  Yet  they  have  had 
most  to  do  with  the  development  of  Western  civiliza- 
tion, have  mingled  with  all  the  characters  of  the  border, 
are  themselves  members  of  the  unique  community  to 
which  they  do  not  seem  to  belong,  and,  leading  lives 


PREFACE. 


apart,  are  yet  intimate  with  all  their  surroundings.  As 
a  very  unimportant  member  of  the  military  brotherhood, 
the  author  gathered  the  impressions  which,  once  written 
and  arranged,  seemed  yet  to  lack  the  essential  of  a 
name.  Many  years  of  association  with  all  classes,  pro- 
fessions, and  conditions  have  passed  since  then.  All  the 
impressions  of  the  soldier  have  been  modified,  and  have 
taken  the  form  of  conviction.  And  that  conviction  is, 
that,  with  all  his  little  and  great  failings,  the  American 
regular  officer  is  the  most  accomplished  of  his  calling 
among  all  the  varied  uniforms  of  the  world,  and  that  he 
remains,  through  all  vicissitudes,  the  most  self-sacrificing 
and  uncomplaining  of  all  the  life-long  servants  of  the 
Republic.  He  is  a  frontiersman  in  the  best  sense  of 
that  word,  and,  unspoiled  by  association,  he  remains 
true  to  his  untarnished  record  of  a  hundred  years  —  a 
gentleman.  He  has  been  always  respected,  and  not 
seldom  loved,  by  the  turbulent  and  impatient  characters 
who  have  constantly  surrounded  him.  As  all  the  inci- 
dents and  characters  that  go  to  make  up  these  chapters 
have  been  seen  and  understood  from  the  military  stand- 
point and  gathered  from  the  inexhaustible  fund  of  mili- 
tary narrative,  while  they  are  not  stories  of  "battles, 
sieges,  fortunes,"  they  are  yet  what  they  are  called  — 
"  Frontier  Army  Sketches." 

I  may  add,  finally,  that  it  seems  impossible  to  explain 
the  interest  that  clings  about  lives  that  are  the  poorest 
and  humblest  that  this  world  knows,  except  upon  the 
hypothesis  that  poverty  and  hope  have  ever  an  uncon- 
scious pathos*  of  their  own.  If  it  be  true  that  men  and 
women  are  ever  and  always  the  same  —  the  helpless  vic- 
tims of  circumstance  that  seems  intention  and  of  a 
fatality  that   seems  a   plan  —  still   everything  that   this 


6  PREFACE. 


whirling  cinder  bears  upon  lier  wrinkled  surface  fades 
into  insignificance  when  compared  with  the  myriad- 
minded  being  whose  loves  and  hopes,  whose  toils  and 
disappointments,  make  up  the  sum  of  life.  These  are 
all  of  that  class  whom  the  world  might  well  spare,  if  by 
the  world  we  mean  only  those  who  fill  the  largest  places 
in  life,  but  who  at  last  do  but  take  their  places  with  all 
the  rest,  in  the  commingled  dust  of  beggars  and  of 
heroes.  It  was  humble  life  as  the  author  knew  it,  in 
that  terra  incognita  of  the  far  Southwest.  That  land 
of  dreams  and  shadows  and  disappointing  realities  has 
changed  its  superficial  character  by  having  been  opened 
to  the  world  by  railways  that  stretch  their  iron  length 
through  valleys  that  were  voiceless  when  the  material 
of  these  sketches  was  acquired,  and  beside  reluctant 
streams  that  have  crawled  slowly  over  their  leagues  of 
sand  since  the  soldier  and  the  priest  came  together  and 
encamped  beside  them.  Yet  not  advancing  civilization, 
nor  anything,  can  materially  change  that  realm  of  rain- 
less years;  of  rivers  without  verdure;  of  brown  moun- 
tains; of  wide  and  silent  deserts;  of  thorns,  and  cactus, 
and  wind-blown  sands;  of  indolence,  idleness,  and  peace; 
of  cloud  shadows  and  the  brightness  of  a  sky  forever 
blue;  of  the  hopeless  sadness  of  perishing  races  stranded 
at  last  upon  those  tideless  shores.  As  reminiscences 
born  in  such  a  land,  touched  here  and  there  with  the 
recollections  wrought  by  a  faded  uniform  and  a  rusty 
sword,  this  little  volume  is  offered  to  the  reader. 


COT^TENTS. 


I.  Captain  Jinks      -----  9 

II.  Jornada  Del  Muerto      -         -         -  24 

III.  Men  of  the  Border     -         -         -  -     43 

lY.  Brown's  Revenge    -        -         -         -  58 

Y.  Copper  Distilled         -         -         -  -     80 

YI.  Joe's  Pocket    -----  105 

YII.  New  Mexican  Comaion  Life         -  -  148 

YIII.  ''Peg,"— The  Story  of  a  Dog        -  163 

IX.  A  Good  Indian    -         -         -         -  -  183 

X.  Jack's  Divorce        _         .         .         -  198 

XL  Coyotes -  210 

XII.  A  Guard-House  Gentleman  -         -  220 

XIII.  Woman  Under  Difficulties         -  -  240 

XIY.  The  Priest  of  El  Paso  -         -         -  254 

XY.  A  Fight  Between  Buffaloes      -  -  272 

XYL  Chicquita        -        -         -        -         -  282 

XYII.  Army  Mules 301 

XYIII.  A  Lonesome  Christian    -        -        -  314 


FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


CAPTAIN  JINKS. 

IT  is  necessary  to  caution  the  reader  against  mis- 
apprehension at  the  beginning.  This  chapter 
does  not  contemplate  a  discussion  of  the  merits  or 
peculiarities  of  that  ancient  gem  in  the  repertory  of 
opera  houffe^  which  has  sometime  since  been  sung 
and  acted  to  its  death,  but  which  may  still  linger  in 
the  recollections  of  some  of  the  elders.  But  there 
is  a  great  deal  of  truth  told  in  broad  burlesque;  if 
it  makes  a  palpable  impression  upon  the  public  there 
must  always  be  truth  as  a  basis.  The  genius,  who- 
ever he  was,  who  wrote  "Captain  Jinks,"  had  in 
his  mind  a  portrait,  more  or  less  truthful,  when  he 
concocted  the  atrocious  jingle  and  called  it  a  song. 
Yery  few  of  those  who  have  heard  it,  and  still  fewer 
of  those  who  have  sung  it,  ever  saw  anything  in  it 
beyond  a  little  fun,  and  an  opportunity  for  some 
stalwart  actress,  with  startling  physical  development 
and  a  wonderful  yellow  wig,  to  mince  before  the 
footlights,  and  display  her  misconception  of  him 
who,  even  more  than  the  lamented  Dundreary,  is 
the  ideal  of  gentlemanly  snobbery. 


10  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

As  hinted,  Captain  Jinks  is  not  entirely  a  myth; 
but  there  may  have  been  many  portraits  of  the  profes- 
sional soldier  in  more  lasting  literature  that  were 
scarcely  nearer  the  truth.  Thackeray  must  have 
watched  him  as  he  sauntered  down  tlie  street,  and 
gone  home  and  made  a  sketch  of  him.  Dickens 
had  an  inkling  of  him,  though  he,  too,  knew  liim 
only  from  afar.  It  is  more  than  probable  that  the 
large  class  of  men  who  are  apparently  idle,  careless, 
dressy,  nonchalant,  in  time  of  peace,  and  brave, 
enduring  and  self-sacrificing  in  time  of  war,  are 
much  the  same  the  world  over.  There  has  ever 
been  among  mankind  a  weakness  for  the  sound  of 
the  drum,  the  strains  of  martial  music,  and  the  rus- 
tle of  a  banner  that  represented  a  common  cause, 
whatever  that  cause  might  be ;  for  the  glint  of 
bullion  and  the  measured  tread  of  battalions,  and 
the  touch  of  that  slender  glittering  thing  that  in  all 
time  has  stood  for  justice  and  honor,  and  not  infre- 
quently for  that  right  which,  with  a  change  of  its 
initial  letter,  means  a  very  different  thing.  It  is 
this  common  passion  which  makes  the  varied  uni- 
forms of  the  world  cover  hearts  very  nearly  alike  in 
what  they  love  and  hate. 

But  there  is  one  individual  of  this  type  who  is 
especially  the  present  subject  of  discourse.  Of 
all  the  soldiers  of  the  world,  he  is  least  known  on 
fashionable  streets,  and  most  seldom  seen  at  select 
parties  and  in  the  choice  seats  at  the  opera.  With 
civilization  and  its  pleasures  and  occupations  he  has 
little  to  do.  There  are  few  gay  seasons  or  long 
leaves-of-absence  for  him.     Of  all  the  homes  along 


CAPTAIN  JINKS.  11 


tlie  far  border  of  a  growing  republic,  liis  is  farthest 
and  most  isolated.  He  is  the  soldier  of  a  country 
that  has  the  brightest  and  newest  banner  of  all,  dyed 
though  it  has  been  with  the  stains  of  many  a  desper- 
ate iield;  and  those  silken  folds  represent  to  him  all 
there  is  of  abstract  devotion  and  love.  It  is  that  of 
a  country  which  in  its  supreme  struggle  raised  and 
sent  to  the  field  the  most  intelligent,  enduring,  un- 
daunted and  brilliant  armies  the  world  has  ever 
seen;  which  in  a  single  year,  in  the  midst  of  divided 
sentiment,  could  rouse  in  her  sons  all  the  traditional 
skill,  courage,  valor  and  patriotism  which  lurked  in 
the  hearts  of  a  long-peaceful  but  fighting  and  glory- 
loving  race.  But  at  the  end  they  sank  again  into 
the  office,  the  shop,  and  the  furrow,  as  mysteriously 
as  sank  the  targe  and  plaid  of  the  followers  of  Rod- 
erick Dhu  upon  the  mountain  side;  and  he,  the  last 
remainder  of  the  host,  thinks,  not  without  cause, 
that  his  cold-shouldered  country  has  almost  forgot- 
ten him. 

Under  all  these  disadvantages,  the  United  States 
army  officer  claims  intimate  kinship  with  his  breth- 
ren of  the  buttons  the  world  over.  There  are  none 
who  wear  with  more  jauntiness  a  modest  blue  coat 
and  the  very  nattiest  trousers  and  boots,  or  whose 
caps  are  more  perilously  perched  upon  the  forward 
right-hand  corners  of  ambrosial  heads.  In  the  mat- 
ter of  mustaches  he  excels  the  German,  and  in  viva- 
city of  movement  he  is  beyond  the  Frenchman.  He 
is  a  rattling  shot  at  billiards,  and  very  cool  and 
silent  at  whist.  He  has  an  eye  to  the  points  of 
horses,   an   acute  judgment   as    to    the   qualities  of 


12  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


liquors,  and  really  and  truly  adores  womankind  with 
a  devotion  and  strength  that  cavils  at  nothing  they 
may  do,  think,  or  say,  and  which,  had  he  no  other 
virtue,  is  sufficient  to  keep  him  forever  in  the  great 
brotherhood  of  gentlemen.  He  is  isolated  and  ut- 
terly cut  off  from  that  world  which  is  all  there  is  to 
most  of  us,  and  his  world  comprises  as  its  chiefest 
features  only  arms,  orders,  and  duty,  and  the  apt 
surroundings  he  has  contrived  for  himself  in  the 
midst  of  a  thousand  difficulties  and  disadvantages. 

But  here,  in  mountain  fastnesses  and  the  dreary 
isolation  of  the  wilderness,  you  strangely  come  upon 
the  only  genuine  chivalry  extant  in  American  life. 
I  may  be  taken  to  task  for  this  wholesale  statement ; 
for  the  over-busy,  nervous,  money-getting  citizens 
of  this  great  country  claim  all  good  qualities  as 
their  own.  Therefore  I  will  explain  :  Chivalry,  in 
its  essence,  means  not  a  careless  but  a  careful  regard 
for  the  opinions,  feelings,  and  personal  comfort  of 
others,  but  more  especially  of  women.  Besides 
that,  it  means  entire  but  polite  candor,  and  no 
tricks  in  trade  or  anything  else.  It  means  that 
the  affairs  of  life  are  conducted  "on  honor."  Cap- 
tain Jinks  in  the  wilderness  practises  this  code, 
and  has  done  so  for  so  long  that  while  staid  and 
respectable  citizens  might  smile  at  his  punctilious- 
ness, they,  together  with  their  wives  and  daughters, 
would  find  him  a  very  pleasant  companion,  and 
might  do  well  to  try  to  find  time  to  imitate  some 
of  his  YQYj  foolish  airs. 

Do  the  gentlemen  who  sit  a-row  at  attractive 
loitering-places   rise  up   en  masse  when   one   poor 


CAPTAIN  JINKS.  13 


little  woman  passes  by  ?  And  if  they  do  not,  and 
are  excused  from  that,  are  they  ever  careful  lest 
some  masculine  phrase  should  reach  her  ear,  or 
the  cigar  smoke  should  blow  in  her  face  ?  Is  a 
woman's  request  a  binding  law  if  it  be  a  possible 
thing  ?  Most  of  these  questions  must  be  answered 
in  the  negative.  Yery  often  the  American  gentle- 
man accosts  his  lady  friend  in  the  street  with  his 
hat  over  his  eyes,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
with  a  lazy  politeness  which  indicates  that  he  is 
anxious  she  should  not  make  the  mistake  of  im- 
agining she  is  any  better  than  he. 

We  may  go  further,  and,  leaving  out  women, 
inquire  how  Captain  Jinks  possibly  excels  us.  He 
takes  off  his  hat  in  his  own  office  or  room,  and 
does  likewise  when  he  comes  into  yours.  He 
expects  to  be  requested  to  seat  himself,  and  if  you 
allow  him  to  stand  he  goes  away  and  does  not 
come  back  so  long  as  he  can  avoid  it.  He  does 
not  often  back-bite  and  insinuate,  and  you  cannot 
always  know  upon  your  first  acquaintance  with  him 
what  and  whom  he  especially  dislikes  and  hates. 
Such  things,  with  him,  lead  to  rapid  settlements  of 
difficulties  ;  and  Jinks  is  therefore,  as  we  should  all 
be,  careful.  There  is  no  need  of  any  action  for 
slander  where  Jinks  and  his  companions  live,  for 
words  and  opinions  are  supposed  to  be  valuable, 
and  are  cautiously  used.  He  will  endeavor  to  lend 
or  give  you  anything  you  ask, —  but  you  must  not 
ask.  There  are  other  things  he  will  do  upon  proper 
invitation,  which  are  not  so  much  to  his  credit.  A 
little  sip  of  something  out  of  a  mahogany  case  is 


14  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

seldom  oiFered  at  the  wrong  time  o'  day.  A  little 
shuffling  of  a  clean  deck,  and  an  unimportant  trans- 
fer of  currency,  is  generally  agreeable  when  he  is 
not  busy, —  and  he  never  is.  Jinks  is  somewhat 
frivolous,  over-polite,  and  nonchalant,  and  carries  a 
very  high  nose  ;  but  he  will  iight.  Any  intimation 
that  he  would  not,  would  hasten  matters  very  fast  in 
that  direction.  And  the  ugliest  antagonist  in  the 
world  is  this  same  tender-handed  fop,  because  it  is 
in  his  line  of  business.  He  stands  in  the  same  rela- 
tion to  other  men  in  this  respect  that  the  terrier 
does  to  other  dogs  ;  he  spends  no  time  in  carefully 
considering  the  size  of  his  antagonist.  Only  of  late 
years  has  the  duello  come  to  be  looked  upon  as 
wrong  and  foolish  by  the  great  majority  of  army 
officers.  Elderly  gentlemen,  long  since  retired"  to 
office-chairs,  have  recollections  of  that  sort  which 
they  sometimes  mention  ;  and  it  appears  that  even 
in  these  instances  death  was  more  often  bargained 
for  than  achieved. 

Captain  Jinks  is  a  strictly  professional  man,  and 
after  some  years  of  military  life  knows  more  of  his 
specialty  —  which  is  a  good  deal  to  know  —  than  he 
generally  gets  fair  credit  for.  There  is  a  common 
impression  that  to  own  a  commission  signed  by  the 
President,  and  to  wear  a  uniform,  is  to  be  a  soldier. 
Many  an  inchoate  hero  has  had  this  impression  dis- 
sipated by  a  few  months'  association  with  the  old 
ones.  The  traditional  routine,  the  customs,  the 
business,  and  the  exact  drill,  require  years  in  their 
mastery.  The  army  is  almost  wholly  governed  by 
an  unwritten  code,  which  has,  in  its  place,  as  much 


CAPTAIN  JINKS.  15 

binding  force  as  the  common  law.  You  would  not 
suspect  that  Jinks  was  ever  a  business  man ;  jet 
the  complicated  system  of  accountability  for  public 
property  requires  something  very  little  short  of 
business  talent  for  its  proper  comprehension.  It 
is  the  most  endless  and  intricate  bundle  of  red  tape 
imaginable,  at  least  to  the  beginner  ;  but,  if  not 
clear,  it  is  at  least  accurate,  to  the  practised  quarter- 
master. The  government  is  an  uncompromising 
creditor,  and  will  stop  Jinks's  pay  for  an  old  camp- 
kettle,  ten  years  after  the  loss  occurred,  if  things 
come  to  the  worst.  He  is  accountable  for  all  the 
houses,  fuel,  forage,  animals,  tools,  wagons,  and 
scattered  odds  and  ends  of  a  post  as  large  as  a 
respectable  village,  the  residence  of  some  hundreds 
of  people.  They  are  all  on  his  "papers,"  and  must 
be  cared  for  and  kept  straight.  Every  company  com- 
mander must  of  necessity  be  a  business  man,  and 
has  a  running  account  with  a  hundred  men.  Mili- 
tary efficiency  means  money,  in  the  sense  that  there 
can  be  no  efficiency  without  it  ;  and  the  first  quali- 
fication of  an  officer  of  any  grade  or  station  is  econ- 
omy and  good  judgment  in  the  care  of  property  and 
the  expenditure  of  funds. 

]^or  is  this  all.  Like  an  editor.  Jinks  must  have 
a  very  varied  and  extensive  fund  of  general  infor- 
mation. He  is  alike  autocrat  and  justice  of  the  peace. 
He  is  the  head  and  leader  of  a  hundred  careless, 
irresponsible  men,  who  in  time  become  human 
automatons,  obeying  orders  and  doing  nothing  more. 
He  learns,  through  his  intercourse  with  them,  to 
know  intimately  each   one,  though   at   a   distance. 


16  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

He  is  often  called  upon  to  exercise  the  functions  of 
pliysician,  priest,  and  executor,  to  the  same  man. 
He  must  know  how  to  exercise  at  once  kindness  and 
firmness,  and  to  command  the  fullest  respect  with 
some  degree  of  love.  If  there  is  a  foible,  a  weak- 
ness, a  want  of  courage  or  capacity,  on  the  part  of 
the  commander,  be  sure  the  ranks  will  find  it  out. 
Jinks  is  a  tyrant  as  well,  and  the  fact  need  not  be 
disguised  from  a  thousand  who  know  at  least  that 
much  of  him.  So  are  railroad  managers,  the  heads 
of  manufacturing  establishments,  and  "bosses"  the 
world  over.  But  the  even  tenor  of  his  tyranny  is 
assured  by  those  ''regulations"  under  which  the 
common  soldier's  rights  and  privileges  are  as  fully 
guaranteed  to  him  as  are  those  of  his  commander. 
Jinks  and  his  companions  have  made  some  of  the 
most  daring  and  careful  explorations  of  modern 
times.  They  traversed  the  mountain  passes  of  an 
unknown  world  more  than  fifty  years  ago,  and 
mapped  and  described  the  routes  of  travel  and  im- 
migration long  before  railways  and  immigration 
were  thought  of.  They  did  it  faithfully  and  skil- 
fully, and  without  any  reward.  There  is  even  at 
this  late  day  a  more  accurate  knowledge  of  the  cli- 
mates, characteristics,  geography,  and  natural  history 
of  the  world  west  of  the  Missouri,  among  the  ofiicers 
of  the  army,  than  among  all  the  savans. 

Perhaps  it  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  know  how 
Captain  Jinks  lives.  The  changeless  empire  of 
monotony  and  silence  hedges  him  in.  ]N"owhere 
within  reaching  distance  are  any  of  those  things 
that  the  majority  of  mankind  value  most.     He  has 


CAPTAIN  JINKS.  17 


but  to  go  a  little  waj  from  the  flag-staff  to  be  utterly 
alone.  Yet,  so  far  as  liis  little  acre  of  actual  occu- 
pancy goes,  he  has  transformed  the  desert.  Here 
is  a  quadrangular  space,  as  neatly  kept  as  a  parlor 
floor.  In  the  centre  floats  always  the  slieeny  repre- 
sentative of  that  for  which  the  soldier  lives.  On 
every  hand  are  the  oddly-shaped  houses,  sometimes 
handsome  and  costly,  often  only  log  cabins  or 
adobes.  But  you  will  find  nothing  like  squalor 
within.  There  is  comfort  and  neatness  always,  and 
not  infrequently  elegance,  and  a  very  successful 
attempt  at  luxury.  As  a  rule.  Jinks  and  his  wife 
care  little  for  the  house  itself,  if  only  the  furnishing 
reaches  the  proper  standard  of  luxury  and  taste. 
There  are  books,  music,  curtains,  carj^ets,  a  very 
well-furnished  table,  and  a  very  fair  display  of  china 
and  silver.  Jinks  is  something  of  an  epicure,  and 
frequently  dines  upon  dainties  which  an  alderman 
could  not  procure.  He  saves  himself  from  an  hour 
of  inanity  every  afternoon  by  thinking  what  he  will 
have  for  dinner,  and  then  asks  every  disengaged 
person  he  can  find  to  come  and  help  him  eat  it. 
You  wonder,  as  you  watch  this  hospitable  soldier  in 
his  wanderings,  where  he  obtains  the  spice  of  con- 
tent. In  these  houses  are  to  be  found  elegant  and 
well-dressed  women,  though  peradventure  their 
gowns  may  not  be  in  the  latest  fashion,  and  their 
social  gossip  not  of  the  latest  sensation. 

Around  this  nucleus  cluster  the  thousand  belong- 
ings of  military  civilization.     Horses  neigh  in  popu- 
lous stables,  and  mules  perform  their  characteristic 
antics  in  the  corral.     The  sound  of  hammer  and  file 
3 


18  FRONTIER  ARMY   SKETCHES. 

is  heard,  and  the  woodyard  and  warehouse  are 
open.  There  is  the  trader's  store  —  an  immensely 
attractive  spot,  which  may  be  called  the  chib-room 
of  the  border.  'There  the  loafing  instinct  which 
Jinks  has  in  common  with  the  rest  of  mankind  is , 
gratified  by  the  clatter  of  ivory  balls  and  the  aroma 
of  tobacco.  These  are  the  only  features  of  Jinks's 
life  which  make  that  life  like  that  of  the  world  to 
which  he  no  longer  pertains,  and  which,  with  all  its 
enjoyable  things,  he  has  by  no  means  forgotten, 
although  it  seems  to  have  almost  forgotten  him. 
There  is  no  danger  that  he  will  ever  degenerate. 
The  discipline  of  his  daily  life  would  keep  him  from 
that.  His  military  ceremonies  are  performed  in  full 
dress,  and  midnight  on  the  lonely  guard-beat  sees 
the  untimely  ceremony  of  "grand  rounds"  per- 
formed with  as  much  punctiliousness  as  though  in 
view  of  the  commander-in-chief. 

But  the  incorrigible  Captain  Jinks  will  swagger, 
will  insist  on  regarding  all  professions  below  par  in 
comparison  with  his,  and  will  so  persist  in  carrying 
an  air  of  careless  superiority  with  him  wherever  he 
goes  that  the  more  sombre-clad  and  fogyish  portions 
of  mankind  will  look  slightly  askance  at  him,  and  in 
some  instances  conceive  quite  a  dislike  to  him.  But 
we  must  be  allowed  to  remark  that  he  would  be 
rather  a  poor  soldier  if  he  were  not  more  or  less 
guilty  of  these  things.  It  is  only  when  he  is  placed 
among  civilians  that  they  are  noticeable;  and  they 
are  the  direct  result  of  an  isolated  professional  train- 
ing. Is  not  the  sailor  known  of  all  men  at  sight  ? 
And  did  anyone  ever  think  of  it  as  strange  that  he 


CAPTAIN  JINKS.  "19 


was  not  in  all  particulars  like  themselves  ?  A  man 
who  has  spent  years  in  the  acquirement  of  certain 
unconscious  personal  traits  and  ways  cannot  be  ex- 
pected to  divest  himself  of  them  as  he  would  put  off 
a  garment.  He  is  no  soldier  who  is  not  proud  of  his 
uniform,  and  in  nine  cases  in  ten  the  American 
officer  will  be  found  to  be  an  honest  man,  and  in  the . 
strictest  sense  a  gentleman.  His  life  in  peace  is  one 
long  preparation  for  that  hour  of  his  country's  need 
when  he  shall  lead  up  to  the  battery  the  blue  ranks 
he  has  so  often  drilled,  and  follow  into  the  jaws  of 
death  the  starry  emblem  he  has  so  often  gathered  in 
his  arms  as  it  came  down  at  the  sunset  gun.  Every 
year  he  endures  hardships  at  the  camp-fire  and  upon 
the  march,  of  which  he  gives  no  sign  as  you  see  him 
passing  by.  We  cannot  blame  him  if  he  be,  or 
seem,  a  little  proud  of  the  slender  blade  which,  after 
all,  is  not  his  but  his  country's.  Let  us  not  be  too 
much  mistaken  in  our  Captain  Jinks.  Of  such  as 
he — just  such  foppish,  careless  fellows — have  ere 
now  been  made  great  generals,  lamented  heroes, 
statesmen,  and  presidents.  Useless  ornament  though 
he  might  be  if  the  millennium  were  only  come,  and 
reminder  of  the  strength  of  monarchies  rather  than 
of  peaceful  republics,  the  time  has  been  when  a  few 
more  available  Jinkses  would  have  saved  the  coun- 
try many  a  life  and  many  a  million  of  treasure,  when, 
in  impending  peril,  we  scarcely  knew  the  equipment 
of  a  camp  or  the  duties  of  a  picket-guard. 

It  would  be  easy  to  discourse  upon  the  lights  and 
shadows  of  Jinks's  life  in  a  manner  that,  while  it 
would  do  no  harm,  and  might  even  be  considered 


20  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


flattering  to  him,  he  would  resent  as  an  unwarranta- 
ble intrusion  into  his  private  affairs;  for  one  of  his 
characteristics  is,  that  he  has  never  seemed  anxious 
to  have  himself  and  his  belongings  —  his  tastes, 
traits,  loves,  hates,  and  the  details  of  liis  private 
life  —  inquired  into  and  discussed  by  mankind.  He 
has,  I  think,  seldom  been  heard  to  complain  that 
people  do  not  understand  him.  If  it  is  because  he 
has  long  ceased  to  expect  that  they  should,  the  con- 
clusion has  given  him  little  pain,  for  he  has  also 
ceased  to  care.  The  army  is,  indeed,  a  little  world 
by  itself,  that  is  unaffected  by  stocks  and  trade,  by 
flood,  fire,  or  disaster,  by  changes  in  politics  or  revi- 
vals of  religion.  In  it  the  lines  are  drawn  very 
straight,  and  are  not  often  crossed.  It  has  its  own 
news,  its  own  gossip,  its  own  penalties,  and  its  es- 
pecial pleasures.  One  would  not  suppose  that  the 
element  of  domesticity  had  much  place  there;  yet 
under  singular  difficulties  this  is  one  of  its  strongest 
features.  Jinks,  as  a  family  man,  seems  capable  of 
mingling  with  great  skill  the  characters  of  jpater 
familias  and  the  occasional  roisterer.  He  has  a 
vivid  conception  and  a  keen  appreciation  of  home 
for  its  own  sake  —  a  home  that  he  never  made  and 
cannot  own,  that  does  not  suit  him  and  cannot  be 
altered,  and  that  he  leaves,  in  his  innumerable  pil- 
grimages from  post  to  post,  without  a  sigh,  cheered 
by  the  hope  of  a  better.  Yet  one  may  recall,  among 
his  recollections  of  that  frontier  that  is  a  thousand 
miles  beyond  the  crudest  civilization,  homes  that 
were  bright  with  the  refinements  of  the  highest  type 
of  our  social  life,  that  were  filled  with  cheerfulness 


CAPTAIN  JINKS.  21 


and  wanned  by  the  indescribable  felicities  that  made 
the  place  restful  and  luxuriant  with  that  rest  and 
luxury  that  do  not  depend  upon  the  price  of  the  fur- 
niture. Jinks  has  absorbed  all  the  good  there  is  in 
the  peculiar  form  of  aristocracy  he  affects.  His 
dining-table  possesses  a  social  and  material  charm 
quite  irresistible  to  all  who  are  so  fortunate  as  to  get 
their  legs  under  it.  One  goes  away  and  asks  him- 
self where  all  these  things  came  from,  and  ever  after 
remembers  that  spot  in  the  coyote-haunted  desert 
which  offered  him  so  restful  a  glimpse  of  the  beauty 
of  woman  and  home,  and  a  taste  of  the  clean  hospi- 
tality of  a  gentleman  about  whom  there  was  neither 
effort  nor  pretence. 

Aladdin  is  a  character  of  childish  fable.  There 
are  no  fairies;  alchemy  was  a  dream;  men  are  only 
men.  From  whence  does  Jinks  derive  the  myste- 
rious quality  that  enables  him  to  survive  the  crudest 
associations,  the  wildest  surroundings,  the  hardest 
fare  upon  the  weariest  marches,  the  slenderest  re- 
sources, the  most  thankless  services,  and  still  remain 
the  inimitable  Jinks  —  clean,  quiet,  nonchalant, 
transforming  the  spot  where  he  is  bidden  to  abide, 
changing  all  the  sensations  of  the  place  where  he 
has  pitched  his  tents  ?  It  seems  a  marked  pecu- 
liarity of  the  American  soldier.  He  is  Jinks  uncon- 
sciously. That  celebrated  charge  of  "conduct 
unbecoming  an  officer  and  a  gentleman,"  upon  which 
the  plumed  and  buttoned  and  intensely  official  court- 
martial  assembles,  hints  at  the  deepest  infamy  of 
military  life ;  and  that  is  a  most  damning  specifica- 
tion, if  proven,  which  asserts  that  "in  this  the  said 


22  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

Lieutenant  So-and-so  wilfully  lied."  It  is  so 
arranged  that  Captain  Jinks  may  be  guilty  of  a  thou- 
sand peccadilloes ;  may  spend  his  nights  at  poker, 
and  his  leisure  hours  at  any  gallantry  that  may  be 
at  hand;  but  he  must  do  his  whole  duty  in  camp 
and  field,  and  privately  and  officially  must  keep 
himself  clear  of  any  possible  entanglement  in  sly 
deception  or  private  crookedness.  He  does  not 
always  succeed  in  this;  err  are  est  humanum.  But 
then  he  gets  himself  cashiered. 

If  Jinks  were  better  known,  he  might  travel  long 
and  far  upon  his  character  as  ''a  good  fellow."  He 
may  if  he  will,  and  often  does,  acquire  an  inexhausti- 
ble fund  of  anecdote  and  personal  reminiscence. 
He  knows  well  the  by-ways  and  corners,  not  of 
cities,  but  of  the  wide  domain  of  the  republic.  The 
dews  and  damps  of  innumerable  midnights,  the 
grays  of  a  thousand  mornings,  the  shadows  of  moun- 
tain pines,  the  wide  loneliness  of  trackless  wastes, 
the  vicissitudes  of  the  camp  and  the  march,  the 
familiar  touch  of  earth  and  the  companionship  of 
nature,  have  all  combined  in  his  education,  and 
allied  themselves  with  that  imaginativeness  of  his 
without  which  he  would  be  but  a  mere  frontiersman 
like  the  rest.  There  are  few  reminiscences  more 
charming  than  those  he  can  call  up  when  he  will, 
and  it  seems  to  please  him  to  clothe  the  most  dole- 
ful and  disappointing  of  his  experiences  in  the  garb 
of  the  ridiculous,  and  to  burlesque  the  tragic  ele- 
ment of  all  his  adventures  by  flood  and  field. 

There  seems  to  be,  in  Jinks' s  case,  neither  ade- 
quate incentive  nor  sufficient  reward  for  the  desper- 


CAPTAIN  JINKS.  23 


ate  bravery  in  behalf  of  country  and  cause  which  he 
often  displays.  There  are  no  spectators,  no  press 
bulletins,  no  medals  or  stars,  not  even  promotion,  as 
his  reward.  Plain  and  mountain-pass  have  wit- 
nessed many  a  heroic  death  that  was  never  men- 
tioned in  the  newspapers,  and  that  no  one  cared  for 
but  a  wife,  a  mother,  or  a  far-away  sweetheart. 
Many  a  pallid  face  amid  the  grasses  of  the  prairie, 
and  many  a  bloody  blue  coat,  have  the  stars  looked 
down  upon  after  a  day  of  thirst  and  hopelessness 
and  desperate  defence.  Unknown  amid  the  eter- 
nal silences  that  are  his  battle-fields,  there  is  many  a 
mound  unmarked  by  so  much  as  an  inscription, 
washed  by  the  rains  and  digged  by  the  wolves, 
where  some  liero  of  the  republic  sleeps.  He  at 
least  does  his  first  and  last  great  duty  unhesitatingly 
and  always.  So  long  as  there  was  a  cartridge  or 
a  man,  there  is  no  instance  of  vacillation  or  surren- 
der in  the  annals  of  far  western  warfare.  As  Custer 
died,  with  all  his  men  around  him,  so  are  all  the 
Jinkses  expected  to  go  when  the  occasion  calls.  The 
universal  civilian  should  remember,  and  be  no  more 
than  just,  that  his  fair  record  of  courage  has  never 
had  a  stain,  that  his  life  challenges  the  admiration  of 
every  man  whose  heart  swells  at  the  story  of  daunt- 
less valor,  and  that  he  is,  after  all,  as  fair  an  exam- 
ple as  our  civilization  can  show  of  what,  for  want  of 
a  better  name,  we  call  a  Gentleman. 


n. 


JORNADA  DEL  MUEETO. 

ONE  evening,  about  sunset,  the  vehicle  which  is 
bj  courtesy  called  a  coach,  drawn  by  four  little 
mules,  with  its  driver  and  expressman,  and  four  pas- 
sengers inside,  started  out  of  the  obscure  village  of 
Peralta  on  that  southward  journey  which  few  who 
have  made  it  will  ever  forget,  and  which  afterwards 
seems  a  strange  adventure,  undertaken  under  cover 
of  darkness,  and  for  some  purpose  that  was  itself  a 
dream. 

Peralta  is  the  very  dogsburg  of  a  land  of  squalid 
towns.  It  is  as  though  it  had  been  gently  shaken 
in  a  blanket,  and  indiscriminately  dropped  in  the 
midst  of  a  few  acres  of  sand.  Sand  is  there  an  ele- 
ment. It  blows  through  every  chink  and  cranny, 
and  lies  ankle  deep  in  the  street.  It  pervades  all 
that  is  eaten  and  drunk  and  breathed,  and  lies  in 
windrows  and  heaps  in  the  meandering  street.  This 
is  all  in  accordance  with  the  Mexican  idea;  for  a  few 
hundred  yards  away  the  ground  is  grass-grown  and 
hard,  and  that  which  stands  in  the  changing  sand 
from  chance  might  easily  have  been  placed  upon 
solid  ground  by  purpose.  Worse  than  all,  it  stands 
at  the  hither  end  of  that  ninety  miles  of  treeless 
and  waterless  wilderness  that  to  many  has  been  in 
fact  all  that  its  name  implies:  Jornada  del  muerto — 
"  the  journey  of  death." 

34 


JORNADA  DEL  MTJERTO.  25 

Of  the  four  passengers,  one  was  a  medical  officer  of 
tlie  army,  one  was  a  trader,  one  a  man  who  was  any- 
thing and  had  no  characteristics  save  that  he  wore  a 
blue  blouse  and  had  a  gold  bar  on  his  shoulder. 
The  fourth,  a  large  man  in  middle  life,  who  sat  with 
his  back  to  the  front  and  his  long  limbs  thrown 
across  the  middle  seat,  was  as  evidently  a  genuine 
borderer  as  though  that  fact  had  been  placarded 
upon  him.  His  great  beard  was  plentifully  sprin- 
kled with  gray,  and  the  soles  of  his  huge  boots, 
upright  before  his  audience,  seemed  as  though  they 
might  serve  as  tombstones  should  he  chance  to  fol- 
low an  old-time  fashion  of  his  kind  and  be  buried  in 
them.  His  slouch  hat  was  pulled  low  over  a  pair  of 
gray  eyes  and  a  kindly  and  honest  face,  and  he  held 
his  "Winchester  gun  across  his  knee  with  that  con- 
stant yet  careless  grasp  which  is  one  of  the  small 
signs  betokening  the  man  accustomed  to  danger  and 
to  the  vigilance  which  in  these  regions  becomes  a 
habit. 

The  gold  and  purple  and  amber  faded,  and  the 
far  snow  grew  pink  and  gray,  then  whiter  than  be- 
fore in  the  starlight,  and  soon  there  was  notliing  of 
earth  in  the  scene  save  the  tall  cactuses  that  took 
fantastic  shapes  as  they  nodded  against  the  glow  of 
the  horizon,  and  the  vague  and  misty  undulations 
of  a  wilderness  that,  clothed  in  night  and  silence, 
seemed  a  part  of  some  other  and  unreal  world. 

Four  women  together,  strange  to  each  other,  and 
without  some  slight  counterpoise  of  masculinity, 
would  either  have  kept  silence  for  a  long  time  at 
first,  or  have  politely  and  distantly  chatted.     But 


26  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

men  do  not  so;  and  each  of  our  travellers  liad  in  a 
short  time  given  his  fellows  some  vague  idea  of  who 
he  was,  where  he  was  born,  and  what  he  liked  best 
in  men,  horses,  climates,  and  cookery; — not  specifi- 
cally and  in  order,  but  as  men  are  sure  to  talk  of 
such  things.  Then  comes  ^  little  modest  bragging 
on  the  part  of  each;  and  he  who  goes  too  far  in  that 
is  straightway  snubbed  into  ill-humor  or  docility,  as 
the  case  may  be,  either  of  which  conditions  answers 
the  purpose  equally  well.  After  this  comes  silence, 
yawning,  and  finally  sleep.  Only  part  of  this  pro- 
gramme could  be  carried  out  here.  Sociability  was  a 
necessity;  for  if  four  men  sleep  on  the  Jornada, 
popular  tradition  would  make  it  seem  probable  that 
they  might  not  awake  again.  ]^o  man  in  those  days 
became  absorbed  in  his  neighbor's  story  or  his  own, 
to  the  extent  that  his  ear  was  not  also  open  to  the 
far-away  galloping  or  the  sudden  shout  that  pro- 
claims that  ubiquitous  Apache  who  is  so  much 
dreaded  and  talked  about  and  so  seldom  seen. 

The  desire  for  something  outside  of  one's  own 
ever-revolvdng  thoughts  is  as  common  as  humanity. 
To  this  end  is  all  that  immense  literature  that  is 
born  in  a  night  and  dies  in  the  morning.  For  the 
gratification  of  the  appetite  which  is  insatiable,  are 
the  remotest  corners  of  the  earth  ransacked,  and  all 
that  is  done  and  suffered  in  all  climes  and  races  con- 
densed into  paragraphs  and  laid  at  even  the  day- 
laborer's  door.  But  where  this  is  impossible  and 
unknown,  its  place  is  taken  by  an  art  the  oldest  and 
most  graceful  in  the  world  —  the  art  of  story-telling. 
To  the  dweller  in  remote  and  unfrequented  corners 


JORNADA  DEL  MUERTO.  27 

of  the  earth  the  ability  to  wander  easily  through  the 
past  of  his  life,  to  talk  of  the  eternal  ego  without 
egoism,  to  cause  his  limited  audience  to  see  his 
situations  as  plainly  as  he  remembers  them,  and  to 
call  out  the  laugh  or  the  curse  which  is  his  applause 
and  reward,  is  considered  as  a  matter  of  course. 
The  silent  man  is  looked  upon  with  general  sus- 
picion, and  has  few  friends.  But  no  man  is  asked 
formally  or  in  turn  to  tell  a  story.  He  begins  as 
soon  as  he  can  get  an  audience  by  cutting  in  upon 
his  neighbor's  fast-waning  discourse,  and  he  con- 
tinues through  a  running  fire  of  comments,  jokes, 
and  minor  adventures.  This,  with  the  addition  of 
some  show  of  form,  is  the  much-vaunted  Indian 
oratory.  This  is  that  art  of  talking  in  which  rough 
men  sometimes  attain  a  smoothness  and  proficiency 
that  might  well  be  envied  in  the  politest  circles  of 
the  great  world  in  which  it  is  popularly  supposed 
everything  is  done  that  is  ever  done,  everything 
known  that  is  within  the  bounds  of  human  attain- 
ment and  endeavor.  It  is  the  art  that  is  simplest 
and  most  attractive  where  form  is  absent,  and  where 
humor  and  pathos  lack  egoism  and  consciousness. 

For  the  most  part,  the  large  man  was  silent.  His 
companions  seemed  none  of  them  to  be  of  the  class 
with  which  he  was  most  at  home.  The  trader  told 
of  events  which  had  occurred  in  a  country  neighbor- 
hood in  some  Eastern  state,  and  duly  mentioned 
the  names  and  relationships  of  all  his  characters, 
with  other  important  and  interesting  details.  The 
medical  man  told  of  college  adventures  and  flirta- 
tions, and  touched  a  little  upon  science.     The  man 


28  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

wlio  was  notliing  and  had  no  particular  character, 
sat  silent,  only  occasionally  throwing  in  an  interjec- 
tion or  an  exclamation  of  mild  astonishment.  He 
was  not  yet  acclimated,  and  his  course  of  action 
undoubtedly  tended  to  make  him  popular  with  the 
doctor  and  the  trader. 

Imally,  that  waning  blood-red  morning  moon  — 
that  ghost  of  brightness  so  seldom  seen  by  a  sleepy 
world,  and  which  seems  to  steal  around  the  Yerge 
of  the  universe  at  late  hours  to  avoid  observation 
and  remark — began  to  show  her  gibbous  face  above 
the  horizon  and  add  a  little  light.  The  dreary 
undulations  of  the  landscape  began  to  grow  more 
distinct.  Thirty  miles  of  the  journey  lay  behind  ; 
and  the  lonely  backward  track,  and  the  still  lonelier 
route  to  come,  oppressed  the  party  with  that  vague 
and  weary  uneasiness  that  one  at  least  of  them  had 
never  felt  before. 

But  now  a  change  seemed  to  have  come  over  the 
big  and  silent  frontiersman.  As  his  companions 
grew  silent  he  grew  active  and  uneasy.  He  peered 
curiously  out  upon  the  road,  and  seemed  intent 
upon  the  outlines  of  the  hills.  He  arose  and  stood 
with  his  foot  upon  the  step,  and  looked  ahead  and 
behind,  and  close  beside  the  track.  He  excited  the 
curiosity  of  his  companions,  who  had  long  since  set 
him  down  as  stupid  ;  and  they  improved  the  oppor- 
tunity presented  for  new  amusement. 

^'  Ever  been  here  before?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"You  bet." 

''  Oh  !  "  said  the  trader  ;   "lived  here  ?  " 


JORNADA   DEL  MUERTO.  29 


"I  rec'n  I  spent  ten  thousand  dollars  not  a  mile 
from  this  'ere  spot." 

' '  Looking  for  it  ?  " 

The  big  man  bent  his  head,  and  doubled  his 
huge  figure  beneath  the  curtain,  lounged  back  into 
his  seat,  drew  a  long  breath,  pushed  back  his  hat, 
and  remarked  : 

''I'll  tell  je  all  about  it." 

There  was  the  general  and  impressive  silence  of 
consent  and  waiting. 

"I've  heerd  you  boys  talk  for  about  six  hours. 
Now  I'm  a  goin'  to  talk  myself,  but  I  wouldn't 
'nless  this  'ere  place  didn't  remind  me  of  it.  Fust 
of  all,  there  aint  nothin' — nary  thing  —  in  this  'ere 
that  people  calls  grit,  an'  pluck,  an'  sense,  an''  all 
that.     There's  nothin'  but  luck  — jest  luck. 

"I  come  out  from  Missouri  to  Californy  in  them 
times  they  calls  '49, —  I'm  a  forty-niner  myself. 
They  was  flush  times  then,  an'  money  was  as  plenty 
as  water,  an'  plentier.  But  still  a  man  couldn't 
save  nothin',  an'  after  a  year  or  two  I  hadn't  much 
more  money  than  I've  got  now,  wich  the  same  aint 
much.  But  wile  I  stayed  there  I  spent,  more,  an' 
had  more  fun  an'  more  fights,  an'  cared  less,  than 
any  man  in  all  Californy.  An'  then,  as  was  nat'ral 
in  sech  cases,  things  got  to  goin'  bad  with  me,  an' 
times  to  git  close,  an'  in  '54  I  come  down  through 
Arizony  an'  them  parts.  In  Tooson,  in  two  weeks, 
I  won  ten  thousan'  dollars  at  poker, —  jest  luck 
ag'in.  Then  I  stopped  short.  I  laid  low  for  three 
or  four  days,  till  I  got  a  chance,  an'  then  come  on 
to  this  'ere  infernal  countrv  with  mv  monev.     I  had 


30  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

a  mind  to  stop  gamblin'  an'  try  an'  make  a  livin' 
like  some  folks  I've  lieerd  of — honestly.  I  knowed 
a  man's  luck  didn't  do  liim  a  good  turn  more'n 
once,  an-  I  concluded  to  go  back  on  it  in  time.  I 
got  down  there  to  Cruces,  an'  some  fellers  pusuaded 
me  to  come  out  here  to  this  infernal  hornado  an' 
dig  fur  water.-  A  passel  of  us  come  out  here,  an' 
found  a  swale." 

Here  the  speaker  painfully  extricated  himself 
from  the  combinations  of  the  vehicle,  crowded  him- 
self out  again,  and  for  some  moments  was  engaged 
in  looking  for  some  feature  of  the  landscape. 

"I  thought  I  seed  the  place,"  he  said,  as  he 
resumed  his  seat. 

''  Where  you  left  the  money? "  said  the  doctor. 

''This  thing  I'm  a  tellin'  ain't  no  joke  to  m^," 
he  quietly  said.  "Both  of  you  young  fellers  has 
said  somethin'  smart  now  about  the  on'y  pile  I 
ever  had,  an'  the  next  smart  thing  I  sh'd  like  to 
say  myself  ef  possible.  As  I  was  say  in',  we  found 
a  swale  where  it  looked  damp.  Me  an'  my  party 
we  dug,  an'  dug.  There  ain't  no  man  knows  any 
better'n  me  how  to  make  a  hole  in  the  groun'.  I 
larnt  that  in  Californy.  But  we  didn't  find  no 
water.      Afore  we   wus   through,   we  dug   all  over 

this  desert,   an'   finally  I  tumbled  to  the  fact 

that  there  wa'nt  no  water,  an'  w'at's  wus,  no  more 
money." 

"Is  that  so?"  chirped  the  medical  man. 

"Wait  till  I  tell  ye.  D  —  n  it,  it  riles  me  to 
think  of  it!"  bellowed  the  speaker.  "That  wan't 
the  wust  of  it.     Afore  that  missable  fool  diggin',  I 


JORNADA   DEL  MUERTO.  •         31 

had  gone  an' — an'  married.  She  wus  the  puttiest 
thing  in  all  this  diggins.  I  tell  ye  I  ain't  never  seed 
no  woman  to  suit  me  sence,  an'  she's  —  gentlem^^i, 
she's  been  dead  this  fourteen  year,  an'  that's  the 
wust  luck  I  ever  had." 

The  story-teller  cleared  his  throat  and  went  on : 
"Well,  arter  that  I  went  down  to  the  settlements 
ag'in,  an'  then  the  guv'ment  sent  some  people  here, 
an'  they  dug,  an'  dug,  an'  didn't  find  no  water  —  nary 
drop.  The  hull  thing  looked  like  a  bad  job,  an' 
folks  made  up  their  minds  to  go  without  water. 
Plenty  of  'em  did.  This  'ere  road  's  been  the  death 
of  many  a  mule,  to  say  nothin'  of  other  folks.  An' 
now  w'at  do  ye  think  they  tell  me  in  Santy  Fee? 
Wy,  they  say  a  man  named  suthin',  I  forgit  w'at, — 
a  feller  that  never  had  no  luck,  an'  hadn't  orter 
had, —  come  out  here  'cos  he  kinder  hadn't  nowhere 
else  to  go,  an'  commenced  a  diggin',  an'  struck  water 
in  forty  foot.  He  has  a  ranch  now,  an'  a  guv'ment 
contract.  Congress  give  him  all  the  wuthless  land  in 
sight,  an'  he's  sometimes  sober,  an'  makes  lots  o' 
money.     Ain't  that  luck  ?  " 

The  speaker  seemed  irritable,  and  brought  his 
great  fist  down  with  a  thump  upon  the  seat  beside 
him. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  the  doctor,  "  everybody  knows 
that;  we'll  reach  there  about  five  o'clock.  I  wish  I 
was  there  now." 

Silent  men  sometimes  make  up  for  lost  time  when 
once  they  are  started ;  and  the  speaker  continued  : 

"An'  do  ye  know  w'at  I  come  down  here  for^ 
Don't?     Then  I'll  perceed  to  tell  ye.     'Cause  I'm  a 


32  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

fool.  There's  people  as  visits  graveyards  an'  things 
w'ere  ther  friends  is.  I'm  a  goin'  to  visit  my  cime- 
try.  I've  tried  evervthiu'  else  sence  I  was  there 
last,  an'  sometimes  I've  concluded  I'd  nigh  forgot  all 
about  it.  'Pears  to  me  I'm  a  gittin'  old  now,  an'  the 
hankerin'  comes  stronger.  I  don't  know  purciselj 
where  the  grave  is  I'm  a  huntin'.  P'raps  there 
ain't  none;  but  I  want  to  see  the  place  where  I  lost 
—  lost  my  woman  I  hadn't  had  a  year." 

The  big  man  seemed  not  so  strong  as  he  appeared. 
He  was  silent  a  moment,  and  nervously  fanned  him- 
self with  his  hat.  Then  he  sat  for  a  few  minutes 
looking  dreamily  out  upon  the  vast  plain,  and  in  the 
midst  of  his  reverie  muttered  disconnected  anathe- 
mas upon  the  Apaches.  After  being  left  alone  by 
the  rest  for  awhile,  he  began  again : 

''Ye  see,  I  went  back  to  the  settlements  frum 
here,  an'  jined  a  party  goin'  back  to  Californy.  I 
tuk  one  more  chance,  an'  owned  one  team  out'n 
the  twenty-odd  there  wus  in  the  train, — me  an'  my 
wife.  I  wan't  broke  any  then.  I  wus  big  an' 
strong,  an'  didn't  mind  my  luck  much,  it  seemed 
like.  We  got  a  start  early  in  September,  an'  wus  a 
goin'  back  by  way  of  Arizony,  naterally.  Thar  is 
a  place  about  a  hundred  mile  from  here  on  t'other 
trail,  called  somebody's  cafion  —  the  allfiredest  place 
fui  Injuns  in  the  world.  We  camped  at  a  spring  at 
this  eend  all  night,  an'  airly  in  the  mornin'  started 
through.  Arter  we  got  along  a  little  ways,  at  a 
suddint  turn  in  the  road,  the  fust  team  come  chuck 
up  ag'in  a  barricade  o'  rocks,  an'  a  swarm  o'  'Paclies 
come  down  on  us  frum  all  sides.     We  'd  passed  a 


JORNADA  DEL  3IUERT0.  33 

passel  o'  soldiers  on  the  road,  but  as  luck  ud  hev  it, 
of  course  tliey  wa'n't  there.  That  ere,  gQuilemen^ 
wus  the  wust  massa(?r^  that  ever  I've  knowed  of. 
There  wa'nt  no  help,  an'  they  jest  hed  the  drop  on 
us.  I  'member  at  the  first,  seein'  some  o'  the 
women  jump  out'n  the  wagons,  an'  run  a  screamin' 
down  amongst  the  chapparal,  a  try  in'  to  hide.  I 
wus  up  in  the  lead,  an'  started  back  to  where  my 
outfit  wus,  fust  thing.  I  never  got  there.  Suthin' 
or  somebody  struck  me  over  the  head  from  behind." 

Here  the  speaker  added  greatly  to  the  delineation 
of  his  narrative  by  leaning  forward  and  bidding  his 
auditors  place  their  fingers  in  a  deep  and  ugly  scar 
upon  his  head. 

"I  fell  down,  an'  I  rec'lect  gittin'  up  ag'in  an' 
runnin'  on  an'  on.  It  seemed  as  though  I  never  got 
to  where  I  wanted  to,  an'  I  turned  dizzy,  an'  com- 
menced a  gittin'  blind.  But  I  kep'  a  goin',  till  all  of 
a  suddint  I  forgot  everythin'.  When  I  come  to  my 
senses  it  must  'a  been  a  week  arterwards.  I  never 
edzackly  knowed,  but  it  wus  on  a  narrer  bed  in  a 
orspital.  Ye  see,  them  soldiers  keni  along  arter 
us  —  arter  everybody  wus  killed.  But  they  found 
me  somewhere,  and  toted  me  along  wi'  'em,  an'  one 
day  I  kinder  woke  up,  a  lyin'  on  this  'ere  bed,  an'  a 
feller  in  a  uniform  wus  a  holdin'  of  my  wrist,  an'  a 
lookin'  down  at  me,  an'  a  smilin'  as  ef  he  war  nigh 
tickled  to  death.  I  tell  you,"  with  a  glance  toward 
the  doctor,  "A^  wus  a  doctor  as  knowed  his  bizness. 
I  crawled  roun'  that  place  till  I  was  middlin'  strong 
agin',  and  kep'  a  thinkin'  it  all  over.  From  all  I 
could  hear,  I  concluded  I  was  the  only  man  left.     I 


34  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

wus  riled,  an'  I  went  an'  'listed  in  the  Third  Cav'lry 
a  purpus  for  to  kill  Injuns.  I  didn't  keer  fur  jiuthin' 
else  fur  a  long  time,  an'  I  sarved  out  five  years  'list- 
ment.  Then  I  went  back  to  Californj.  But  I  ain't 
had  no  luck.  I  ain't  done  no  good  fur  years.  I'm 
a  thinkin'  now  contin'ally  o'  that  day  in  the  caiion. 
I  tell  ye,  sometimes  I  think  maybe  some  o'  them 
women  got  away.  'Tain't  so;  I  know^  'tain't  so,  an' 
it's  no  use  to  specerlate.  But  she  wus  sech  a  purty 
thing,  an'  sly,  an'  smart.  But  what  makes  me  think 
o'  her  is  bey  ant  that.  Ye  see  she  wa'n't  very  well, 
an'  wus  ailin'  a  little,  an' — " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  leaned  for- 
ward and  placed  his  face  between  his  great  hands 
and  was  silent.  But  after  awhile  he  resumed  the 
tale,  to  which  thus  far  there  had  been  -no  replies  or 
questions. 

"  Gentlem^?i,  'twouldn't  be  no  use  fur  any  of  ye 
to  tell  me  I'm  a  fool.  I've  been  a  thinkin'  o'  this 
fur  fourteen  year,  an'  now  it's  got  to  be  thet  I  ain't 
good  fur  nothin'  else.  Other  men  has  ther  young- 
sters, an'  never  thinks  of  it ;  but  I  can't  hear  a 
little  'un  cry — wich  I  hain't  often  —  'thout  gittin' 
kind  o'  weak.  But  ther's  one  thing  I  kin  do  ;  I 
kin  go  back  an'  find  that  place  in  the  canon.  I've 
as  good  a  right  to  visit  my  fam'h^  cimetry  as  any 
man  a  livin',  an'  I'm  a  goin'  to  do  it."  But  his 
voice  grew  tremulous  as  he  added,  in  a  milder  tone, 
"But  I'd  give  all  that  ten  thousan'  an'  all  the  water 
on  the  hornado,  ef  I  cud  on'y  see,  jest  once,  that 
baby  that  never  wus  born." 

None  of  the  men  to  whom  he  had  spoken  were 


JORNADA  DEL  MUEBTO.  35 

dull,  but  all  had  evidently  been  mistaken  in  their 
conception  of  this  man's  character.  He  was  now 
invested  with  a  degree  of  interest  that  had  not  at 
first  attached  to  him.  So  far  as  they  knew,  he  was 
the  sole  snrvivor  of  one  of  the  historic  massacres  of 
the  country.  They  silently  respected  the  story, 
and  the  feelings  of  one  to  whom  it  seemed  to  have 
been  a  brooding  memoiy  for  so  many  years.  The 
medical  man,  at  least,  was  a  gentleman  of  some 
learning,  culture,  and  delicacy  of  feeling.  He 
divined  the  vulnerable  and  very  tender  spot  upon 
this  coarse  giant,  and  now  perhaps  felt  the  pecu- 
liar leaning  toward  him  which  all  his  cloth  expe- 
rience in  regard  to  what  bids  fair  to  prove  a  special 
case. 

"  See  here,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "who  told  you 
that  your  —  ah,  your  wife  —  was  certainly  killed? 
I  wouldn't  raise  your  hopes,  you  know  ;  but  then 
there's  no  telling  about  such  things  unless  they 
have  been  actually  proven.  Now,  I  have  heard 
that  there  were  survivors  of  that  massacre  still 
living  somewhere  in  the  country.'  You  are  alive, 
you  see,  and — ah,  well,  you  can't  'most  always 
tell."  He  had  thought  he  would  say  something 
comforting,  and  had  broken  down  and  ended  with 
an  expression  that,  critically  considered,  was  little 
short  of  ordinary  slang.  But  presently  he  contin- 
ued :  "Now,  you  see,  the  chances  are  that  if  things 
were  as  you  state,  that  —  ah,  in  view  of  the  scare 
and  the  excitement,  the  little  one  would  come  into 
the  world  without  any  great  delay,  and  if  the 
mother  was  very  strong,   you   know,  why,   such  a 


36  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

tiling  is  not  impossible  as  that  you  might  yet  see 
the " 

He  suddenly  stopped,  for  the  frontiersman  was 
leaning  forward  in  his  seat,  and  with  quick  breath 
was  drinking  every  fateful  word.  "My  God!"  he 
said,  "do  ye  think  so?  Air  you  in  yearnest? 
Nobody  told  me  she  was  dead  —  and  everybody 
.  .  .  .  But  she  is  —  she  is;  an'  ef  she  wa'nt, 
it  wouldn't  know  sech  as  me." 

For  a  few  moments,  everybody  sat  silent.  The 
doctor  seemed  trying  to  look,  as  closely  as  the  dark- 
ness would  permit,  into  the  countenance  of  the  man 
in  whose  mind  hope  very  dim  and  far,  and  despair 
very  imminent  and  immediate,  seemed  struggling 
for  the  mastery.  But  at  last  he  seemed  to  have 
come  to  a  conclusion,  and  beginning  very  cau- 
tiously, remarked  : 

"I  have  travelled  this  road  many  times.  I  know 
of  such  a  case  as  this  would  seem  to  be,  not  far 
from  here.  Everybody  knows  of  it,  in  fact.  I  am 
satisfied,  my  friend,  that  your  journey  may  not  be 
for  nothing  —  I  say  m«y  not  be.  I  am  very  cer — " 
He  stopped  again,  for  the  big  man  seemed  to  be 
getting  into  a  dazed  condition,  rubbing  his  eyes, 
and  pulling  himself  together,  as  one  who  believes 
he  has  been  dreaming.  The  doctor  placed  his 
hand  upon  his  arm.  "Be  calm,"  he  said;  "I 
will  tell  you  all  I  know,  now  that  I  have  begun." 

"All  what?"  thundered  \,he  frontiersman.  "Say 
it  quick  an'  fast,  an'  be  done  with  it.  How  am  I 
to  live  thisaway  ?       An'  here,  you,  there  wus  one  o' 


JORNADA  DEL  MUERTO.  37 

you  doctors  as  saved  my  wutliless  life  a  long  ago. 
Fur  God's  sake,  don't  another  of  ye  kill  me." 

"I'll  tell  you  all  I  know,"  said  the  doctor, 
"after  breakfast.  Meantime,  my  friend,  if  you 
don't  wish  another  of  my  tribe  to  take  charge  of 
you,  you  must  be  calm.  You  are  no  child;  you 
should  be  able  to  restrain  yourself  if  you  wish  to  be 
considered  a  man." 

Thereupon  the  medical  man  tried  to  divert  the 
channels  of  conversation.  He  was  not  successful. 
The  j^arty  was  constrained  and  silent,  and  tlie  big 
man  looked  out  upon  a  landscape  to  which  the 
growing  light  added  no  charm,  with  an  expression 
upon  his  face  that  made  more  than  one  of  the  party 
pity  him. 

Tlie  short  summer  night  had  faded,  and  that  rare 
first  touch  of  sunlight  upon  mountain  snow,  wliich 
more  than  anything  in  nature  bears  the  similitude 
of  a  kiss,  began  to  appear.  The  tired  beasts  seemed 
to  take  new  life,  and  pushed  eagerly  on.  Far  in 
the  distance  could  be  faintly  heard  the  first  crowing 
of  the  cocks,  the  bleating  of  goats,  and  the  cry  of 
asses,  while  the  thin  blue  breakfast-smoke  could  be 
seen  curling  from  the  chimney  of  the  little  adobe 
castle  which  was  the  lucky  man's  ranch. 

All  that  the  frontiersman  had  heard  of  him  was 
true.  He  had  a  well  of  unfailing  water,  that  was 
better  than  all  the  gold  mines  of  the  surrounding 
mountains,  and  a  government  contract,  and  was 
happy  in  his  first  luck.  He  ushered  the  four  trav- 
ellers into  the  house  as  though  he  had  known  them 
for  years.    He  had  a  protegee^  the  child  of  a  Mexican 


38  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

woman  who  was  a  dependent  of  the  establishment, 
whom  he  considered  one  of  the  attractions  of  the 
phace,  and  of  wliom  he  never  ceased  to  talk.  For 
lie  was  of  that  class  commonly  known  as  "good- 
liearted,"  and  was  capable  of  a  generous  apprecia- 
tion of  things  not  always  and  entirely  his  own. 
AVhen  the  child  came  into  the  room  at  these  eaply 
breakfasts  provided  for  passengers  in  the  stage,  he 
always  dilated  upon  the  girl  and  her  peculiar  his- 
tory. The  facts  bore  him  out.  She  was  a  creature 
of  fourteen,  who  looked  eighteen.  Slie  had  an 
enormous  quantity  of  that  red  hair  which  is  crimson 
in  the  sunshine,  and  eyes  of  the  variety  which,  for 
want  of  some  better  term,  are  called  brown,  being 
in  reality  both  brown  and  black.  She  was  round, 
lithe,  graceful,  and,  in  fact,  a  very  favorable  speci- 
men of  the  being  who  is  sometimes  the  result  of  tlie 
admixture  of  the  blood  of  two  dissimilar  races 

"Do  you  see  that  garl,  gentlemen?"  said  he. 
"That's  the  loveliest  little  thing  in  Mexico,  and 
diifers  from  them  all  in  her  birthplace  and  her 
nussin'.  Her  mother's  my  cook,  an'  nothin'  to  me 
more  'n  that;  an'  I've  plenty  of  my  own,  but  they 
was  born  in  a  house."  And  therewith  the  garrulous 
good  fellow  hurried  away  to  attend  to  some  neces- 
sary affair,  intending  to  hasten  back  and  finish  his 
proud  tale. 

The  four  travellers  sat  and  watched,  with  some 
pardonable  impatience,  the  preparations  for  break- 
fast. The  doctor  stealthily  kept  his  eye  upon  the 
big  frontiersman,  to  whom  ihe  sight  of  the  pretty 
child  did  not  seem  to  be  in  any  way  interesting. 


JORNADA  DEL  MUERTO.     .  39 

From  time  to  time  the  mother  entered  and  busied 
herself  with  the  aifairs  of  breakfast.  Slie  seemed 
an  almost  middle-aged  Mexican  woman  of  the  better 
class,  care-worn  and  wrinkled  with  the  world  and 
its  struggle,  as  all  her  kind  are  when  youth  fades. 
She  was  accustomed  to  strangers,  and  did  not  per- 
ceive that  the  frontiersman  had  regarded  her  from 
her  first  entrance  with  a  dreamy  stare.  T\\q  frijole.^ 
and  the  chile-Gon-came  had  occupied  her  attention, 
and  she  started  when  the  big  man  rose  up  in  her 
way,  his  gray  eyes  glittering  and  his  lips  white,  and 
faintly  spoke  a  word  in  Spanish  —  so  faintly  that 
none  understood. 

She  did  not  let  fall  the  brown  dish  she  held  in 
her  hand  ;  she  was  ignorant  of  all  nerves  and  proper 
sensations.  But  she  placed  it  upon  the  table,  and 
looked  steadily  at  him.  Her  face  began  to  pale  a 
little  with  fear  and  horror.  As  slow  recognition 
dawned  upon  her,  she  sank  down  upon  the  floor 
and  turned  away  her  head,  praying  rapidly  after  the 
fashion  of  her  race.  '-^Ave  Maria T''  she  muttered. 
^^Soy  la  desdicJia  de  este  tnundo.  Soy  tit  liija  ahan- 
donaday  rae  socerras  en  tu  merced^  y  me  salvas  de 
las  visitas  de  los  aparecidos ;  ah^  Madre  de  Crista^ 
me  salvas  .^ " 

' '  But  I  am  no  ghost, "  he  said.  ' '  Don' t  you  know 
me  ?  W'y,  now  look  here,  —  say,  don't  go  'way. 
I'm  drunk,  or  crazy,  or  dreamin',  or  else  you  are 
my  wife^ 

She  rose  while  he  spoke,  and  the  look  of  terror 
changed  to  one  of  anxiety  and  consternation.  "  Oh, 
go  away,"  she  said,  in  her  lisping  English.      "It  is 


40  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

YQYy  long.  Tengo  otro  hornbre^  y  mocJios  mucha- 
chos.^^  And  mingling  her  Spanish  and  English, 
horrified  and  distressed,  she  passed  backward 
through  the  door.  What  wonder  ?  Dead  husbands 
are  not  wanted  to  return  and  interrupt  the  arrange- 
ments that  have  come  about  through  their  deaths. 
This  poor  woman  had  a  second  living  husband,  even 
then  in  the  door-yard,  and  acted  as  many  another 
would  have  done  in  a  situation  so  strange  and  so 
improbable. 

Then  the  proprietor  returned,  and  attempted  to 
finish  his  interesting  remarks  upon  the  child.  He 
had  at  last  got  to  the  curious  manner  of  her  birth  in 
the  chapparal,  when  she  came  in  again.  The  fron- 
tiersman listened  as  one  who  dreams.  His  eyes 
rested  lovingly  upon  the  child,  who  knew  and  cared 
as  little  for  him  as  though  he  were  indeed  dead  in 
the  canon. 

"Chicquita,"  said  he,  as  he  advanced  and  held 
out  to  her  a  trembling  hand,  "do  ye  know  who  I 
am?  Yer  mother  does.  W'y,  now,  come, —  can't 
ye?"  His  fond  and  confident  expression  changed 
to  one  of  pitiable  suffering,  as  the  girl  ran  from  him 
with  a  scared  and  wondering  look  and  took  refuge 
beside  the  proprietor. 

"Look  here.  Mister,"  said  that  person,  "I  don't 
know  you,  but  ye're  actin'  like  a  fool.  What  are  ye 
a  skeerin'  this  one  for?  IS'ow  stop  yer  foolin'  an'  eat 
yer  breakfast  ef  ye  want  to,  an'  ef  not,  be  done  with 
yer  nonsense  in  my  house." 

"She's  my  own  little  one,"  gasped   the  other. 


JORNADA  DEL  MUERTO.  41 

"I'm  her  fatlier.  Go  call  her  mother  to  tell  ye, — 
an'  mind  yer  jaw,  or  I'll — " 

Then  the  woman,  with  red  eyes  and  a  face  in 
which  the  evidence  of  a  strange  contest  was  visible, 
again  entered  the  room. 

"No,  Senor,"  she  said,  "I  not  know  you, — go." 
And  she  sank  into  the  uttermost  corner  of  the  room, 
and  covering  her  face  with  her  dingy  shawl,  rocked 
herself  to  and  fro. 

The  proprietor  seemed  reassured,  and  advanced 
upon  his  antagonist.  "Who  are  ye?"  he  said. 
"The  man  you  claim  to  be  is  as  dead  as  Moses. 
He  wus  dead  w'en  this  garl  wus  born.  Ye  can't 
play  no  sicli  stuff  as  that.  She  won't  look  at  ye. 
Chuck,  who  is  this  feller,  anyhow?  " 

The  spoiled  beauty  looked  at  the  frontiersman 
disdainfully,  contemplated  him  for  a  moment,  and 
broke  into  a  careless  laugh.  The  victim  sank  into 
a  seat  like  one  stricken.  The  actions  of  the  child 
were  but  natural,  for  the  instinctive  recognition  of 
relationships  is  but  a  fable.  The  broken  man,  de- 
nied by  his  wife,  and  derided  by  the  child  of  whose 
dear  existence  he  had  dreamed  for  so  many  years, 
insulted  and  defied  by  an  officious  stranger,  crept 
away  and  hid  himself  in  the  coach,  and  was  there 
when  it  passed  out  upon  its  onward  journey. 

The  remaining  miles  were  passed  in  the  glow 
and  cheerfulness  of  day;  but  the  party  was  now  a 
silent  and  constrained  one.  There  sat  with  them  a 
man  who  seemed  very  old,  and  who  was  seemingly 
crushed  by  that  century  of  suffering  which  it  is  pos- 
sible to  concentrate  into  a  single  hour. 


42  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

There  came  an  autumn  afternoon  in  that  saii?e 
year,  when  the  yellowing  leaves  beside  the  ashen 
stream  trembled  in  a  wind  that  bore  the  slightest 
breath  of  cold.  The  imperturbable  mountains  still 
lay  about  the  scene,  casting  long  shadows  across  the 
low  valley.  He  had  gone  to  the  bad,  and  had  gone 
very  quickly.  But  his  stage-journey  friend  stuck  to 
him  while  the  colossal  strength  gradually  became 
childish  weakness,  and  the  pillow  upon  which  the 
white  head  lay  was  softer  than  any  it  had  ever  felt 
before.  It  was  he  who  held  the  big,  emaciated  hand 
on  that  afternoon,  and  smiled  sadly  as  his  patient 
talked.  "Ye  can't  save  me  this  time,"  he  said. 
"Ye' re  good  ones,  but  there's  no  use  in  it  now." 

It  were  fitting  if  that  mother  and  daughter  could 
have  been  near  then,  while,  as  the  shadows  length- 
ened, he  said  good-bye.  There  was  no  hope  of 
glory,  no  illumined  path  stretching  out  before  him 
and  across  the  river.  "  Good-bye.  I'm  glad  to  go. 
I  couldn't  help  it.  I  never  had  no  luck.  It's  all 
right  nowy 

And  for  the  last  time — lonely  now,  indeed,  but  as. 
he  had  lived,  without  fear — the  frontiersman  started 
out  upon  la  Jornada  del  muerto. 


III. 

MEI^  OF  THE  BORDER. 

NO  one  would  ever  learn  from  innumerable  vol 
umes  that  our  country  had  developed  anything 
characteristic,  save  that  which,  as  Americans,  we  are 
bound  to  consider  as  abstract  greatness.  Of  course 
not ;  America  is  yet  too  young  to  have  developed 
classes  whose  peculiarities  serve  to  separate  them 
from  the  great  mass  of  their  countrymen,  or  to  give 
them  a  place  of  their  own  in  the  annals  of  change 
and  progress.  In  this  supposition,  if  it  be  as  com- 
mon as  it  would  seem,  there  is  a  mistake. 

There  is  a  life  where  habits,  prejudices  and  tastes 
which  have  been  bred  in  the  bone  are  forgotten  ; 
where  the  grooves  are  turned  a-wry  and  broken,  and 
in  whose  strongly  defined  yet  fleeting  characteristics 
are  to  be  seen  the  most  wonderful  of  all  the  changes 
that  peculiar  surroundings  are  capable  of  working 
uj)on  personal  character. 

The  borderer  is  a  man,  not  born,  but  uncon- 
sciously developed  by  his  associations,  surroundings, 
and  necessities.  He  may  have  seen  tlie  light  first  on 
the  Chesapeake  or  the  banks  of  the  Juniata;  he  may 
hail  from  Lincolnshire  or  Cork.  Far  Western  life 
will  clothe  him  with  a  new  individuality,  make  him 
forget  the  tastes  and  habits  of  early  life,  and  trans- 
form him  into  one  of  that  restless  horde  of  cosmopo- 
lites who  are  the  foam  of  that  slow  wave  of  human- 

43 


44  FRONTIER   ARMY  SKETCHES. 

itj  which  creeps  toward  the  setting  sun,  and  subsides 
at  last  in  tliat  green  and  abiding  peace  whicli  has 
changed  the  wilderness  into  homes  and  farms,  built 
railways  and  cities,  and  in  a  quarter  of  a  century 
added  one-third  to  the  wealth  of  a  people  in  compar- 
ison with  whose  greatness  the  Roman  Empire  was  a 
mimic  show. 

The  life  of  the  border  is  necessarily  a  transitory 
one,  and  is  fast  passing  away.  The  peculiarities  of 
existence  and  men  there  will  disappear  before  fast- 
advancing  civilization,  and  leave  no  record  of  them- 
selves, even  as  the  backwoodsman  has  left  none. 
And  yet  the  frontier  may  be  said  to  have  a  lan- 
guage, a  religion,  and  a  social  life  of  its  own.  It 
has  a  habit  of  thought  and  action  unique,  vigorous, 
and  not  wanting  in  the  elements  of  that  which  every- 
where expresses  religion,  honor,  and  pathos.  The 
people  whose  tastes  or  whose  fates  lead  them  hither 
have  a  world  to  themselves  alone :  a  world  of  loneli- 
ness and  lost  comforts,  where  cities,  banks,  railroads, 
theatres,  churches,  and  scandals  have  not  yet  come ; 
a  world  where  births  and  weddings  are  few,  funeral 
ceremonies  are  short,  and  tears  are  almost  unknown. 
There  is  here  so  close  an  affinity  between  nature  and 
man  that  nature  is  an  hourly  teacher  in  a  land  that 
is  as  solemn  as  the  sea,  and  where,  as  upon  the  sea, 
the  mists  of  the  horizon  bound  the  world.  The  days, 
unchanged  by  the  ceremonies  and  observances  of 
civilization,  are  all  alike,  each  one  as  melancholy  as 
a  Puritan  Sabbath.  Nature  is  herself,  and  spreads 
her  feasts  and  acts  her  orderly  caprices  at  her  own 
pleasure.    Acres  of  flowers,  leagues  of  beauty,  bloom 


MEN  OF  THE  BORDER.  45 

and  fade  and  come  again,  unseen  bj  man,  who  does 
not  as  yet  understand  his  own  dominion.  Solitary 
birds  ily  silently  by.  The  animals  stare  at  the  new 
animal  —  the  passing  man  —  almost  unscared  ;  and 
silence  is  a  power. 

And  yet  the  borderer  is  not  a  ^' child  of  nature." 
Men  never  are.  It  is  a  fiction  of  the  poets.  He  is, 
in  his  wildest  state  and  his  nearest  approach  to  sim- 
plicitj^  a  creature  of  education,  but  of  an  education 
so  peculiar  that  the  term  scarcely  expresses  it.  He 
is  undoubtedly  a  very  different  character  from  the 
backwoodsman  who  has  been  called  his  prototype, 
and  in  all  respects  a  much  more  modern  one  of  that 
large  class  who  are  the  unconscious  victims  of  cir- 
cumstance. He  who  a  generation  ago  was  engaged 
in  hewing  out  openings  in  the  vast  forests  of  Ohio 
and  Indiana  was  clad  in  buckskin  and  moccasins,  and 
practised  in  a  homely  manner,  but  conscientiously, 
the  virtues  of  hospitality,  uncouth  but  disinterestea 
kindness,  and  general  and  strict  personal  honesty.  If 
he  was  ignorant  of  the  graces  of  civilization,  he  also 
knew  few  of  its  vices.  He  had  not  been  in  cities  and 
had  not  carried  their  characteristic  vices  with  him 
into  the  wilderness.  The  weapon  of  his  day  was 
an  honest  rifle,  and  he  had  not  an  arsenal  of  deatli 
slung  about  his  w^aist.  In  all  these  things  the  mod- 
ern frontiersman  sets  at  naught  the  idealisms  of 
Cooper,  the  time-honored  traditions  of  the  middle 
states,  and  the  well-established  ideas  of  novel-read- 
ing mankind. 

The  ideal  borderer,  the  type  of  his  class  from 
eastern  Kansas  to  the  Kio  Grande,  you  are  apt  to 


46  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

find  in  calf-skin  boots,  with  wide-brimmed  liat  worn 
askew,  and  nether  limbs  encased  in  fancy  cassi meres. 
There  are  often  rings  upon  his  fingers  and  blazing 
jewels  upon  his  breast.  lie  is  inclined  to  be  loud 
and  defiant  in  dress,  manners,  and  general  deport- 
ment. He  clings  with  the  tenacity  of  second  nature 
to  the  language  of  the  dance-house  and  the  brothel, 
and  uses  in  his  discourse  the  picturesque  phraseol- 
ogy of  draw-poker.  The  unhappy  thought  of  Oolonel 
Colt,  w^hich  has  filled  more  unmarked  graves  than 
the  plague  and  eternally  settled  more  disputes  than 
all  juries,  is  his  constant  and  valued  companion,  and 
he  wears  his  rakish  hat  a- wry  upon  his  oily  locks 
witli  the  air  of  the  king  of  all  the  loafers. 

But  he  is  not  a  loafer.  He  is  quarrelsome,  jeal- 
ous of  honor,  and  still  very  much  of  a  man  and  a 
friend  to  those  who  understand  him.  He  scorns  to 
conceal  actual  impressions  and  thoughts,  but  in  this 
he  is  only  very  unnecessarily  sincere  and  independ- 
ent. He  will  take  a  stranger's  last  dollar  at  a  game 
w^hicli  he  does  not  understand,  but  he  will  likewise 
lend  and  share  to  the  last  cent  and  the  last  morsel. 
He  hates  what  he  is  pleased  to  consider  "airs," 
cannot  abide  to  be  patronized,  and  is  intolerant 
tow^ard  all  who  chance  to  disagree  with  him.  His 
great  fault  is  a  disposition  to  bluster,  to  assert  him- 
self, to  deny  to  the  rest  of  mankind  the  privilege  of 
being  ever  or  by  any  chance  in  the  right.  But  he 
is  brave,  sincere,  and  faithful,  when  once  enlisted  in 
any  causCo 

This  kind  of  man,  with  the  many  variations 
which  exist  among  classes  always,  is  the  frontiers- 


MEN  OF  THE  BORDER.  47 

man.  California  has  seen  liini  these  twenty  years. 
He  is  here  and  there  in  all  the  villages  of  Colo- 
rado and  IS^ew  Mexico,  and  his  habitation  is  in 
every  sheltered  nook  in  many  thousands  of  ndles  of 
plains-country.  "With  all  his  faults,  it  may  be  justly 
said  of  him  that  he  is  a  man  who  depends  upon  his 
courage,  who  has  chosen  his  life  and  will  never 
leave  it,  and  who  is  the  fit  and  capable  vedette 
who  stands  upon  the  verge  of  the  mighty  civiliza- 
tion which  is  destined  to  follow  him  when  he  and  his 
unconscious  work  shall  have  passed  into  that  dim 
limbo  that  has  no  historian,  and  leaves  no  record, 
monument,  nor  representative.  It  is  not  necessa- 
rily a  startling  announcement,  that  the.  borderer 
does  not  feel  called  upon  to  live  entirely  without 
the  solace  and  comfort  of  woman.  We  may  be 
saddened,  but  hardly  astonished,  to  know  that  the 
bold-faced  curse  of  the  by-streets  of  the  most  pop- 
ulous and  enlightened  of  the  cities  of  the  world 
is  also  here,  bolder,  gaudier,  and  more  shameless 
than  ever.  Ministering  to  every  baseness,  inciting 
to  every  crime,  worse 'than  her  male  associates  by 
so  much  as  woman  fallen  is  always  worse  than 
man,  the  tipsy  queen  of  the  demi-monde  flaunts 
her  finery  among  the  shanties  of  every  border  town. 
But  there  is  another  class  who,  in  a  feminine 
way,  are  like  unto  their  husbands  and  brothers. 
They  are  indeed  few,  and  it  will  be  long  before 
there  will  be  complaints  of  a  surplus  of  maiden 
ladies  on  the  border.  How  or  why  any  of  them 
ever  came  there,  is  something  of  a  mystery.  But 
they  live   in   the   ranche    and   the   adobe,  and  are 


48  FRONTIER   ARMY  SKETCHES. 

wives  and  mothers,  and  are  content — and,  it  is 
liardlj  superlative  to  say,  as  happy  as  their  more 
elegant  sisters  of  the  East.  Their  nearest  neighbor 
may  be  twenty  miles  away,  their  chances  for  gossip 
few  and  far  between,  and  all  their  amusements  and 
occupations  masculine  and  homely.  They  know 
more  of  the  economy  of  the  camp-fire,  the  qualities 
of  oxen,  and  the  habits  of  the  coyote,  than  they  do 
of  the  prevailing  fashions,  or  of  cunning  variations 
in  the  style  of  bonnets  and  the  color  of  hosiery. 
But  the  neat  bed  in  the  corner,  the  clean  hearth, 
the  neatness  of  dingy  adobe  or  sod  walls,  and  the 
trailing  vine  over  the  low  roof,  in  many  a  frontier 
house,  proclaim  the  touch,  the  taste,  the  love  and 
care,  with  which,  in  loneliness,  poverty,  and  isola- 
tion, a  woman  ^  still  adorns  the  spot  which  is  her 
home. 

There  are  children  too.  You  need  not  think  to 
escape  the  cry  of  infancy  by  going  westward.  They 
never  heard  the  sound  of  the  school-house  bell,  and 
are  ignorant  of  the  functions  of  a  Sunday-school 
superintendent.  They  are  even  deprived  of  the 
ordinary  amusements  of  children.  They  ride  no 
gates,  slide  upon  no  cellar  doors,  and  make  no 
small  escapades,  to  be  found  and  carried  home  by 
the  police.  But  the  mud-pie  proprietorship  of  a 
hundred  leagues  is  theirs.  All  their  lives  they 
have  heard  the  bark  of  the  coyote,  and  watched 
for  the  coming  and  going  of  the  bison,  and  in  the 
majority  of  instances  are  the  tow-headed,  boggle- 
eyed  urchins  that  children  of  the  English  blood  the 
world  over  are  ever  apt  to  be. 


MEN  OF  THE  BORDER.  49 

Partly  to  circumstances  attending  trade,  particu- 
larly freighting,  but  mainly  to  what  may  be  called 
the  migratory  instinct,  most  of  the  people  of  the  far 
frontier  owe  the  fact  of  their  residence  there.  So 
far  east  as  western  Kansas,  there  is  yet  a  more 
natural  motive  —  the  desire  to  obtain  a  home  and 
land.  There  is  no  more  natural  illustration  than  is 
here  apparent  of  how  the  human  mind  goes  back  in 
its  desires  to  the  original  source  of  all  wealth,  and 
to  the  first  meaning  of  the  word  home — a  home  that 
is  ours  because  we  have  made  it.  In  the  search  for 
this,  there  is  no  danger  that  can  daunt,  no  difficulty 
that  can  discourage.  The  pertinacity  with  which 
the  pre-emptors  and  squatters  have  clung  to  the 
idea  of  home-getting,  amid  surroundings  in  which 
there  seems  so  little  present  happiness  and  so  little 
future  hope,  is  not  the  least  surprising  feature  of 
their  hard  lives.  But  with  regard  to  a  large  class 
with  which  this  article  has  mainly  to  do,  the  ques- 
tion as  to  why  they  are  there,  and  what  they  find  to 
do,  is  harder  to  answer.  The  plains  ranch  proper 
is  always  a  small  store,  in  which  is  sold  bacon, 
flour,  and  a  very  bad  article  of  whiskey.  The  travel 
is  mainly  confined  to  certain  roads,  and,  notwith- 
standing the  trans-continental  lines  of  railway,  is  at 
certain  seasons  of  the  year  by  no  means  inconsider- 
able. By  this  travel  the  rancher  lives.  The  brown 
walls  of  his  hovel,  seen  from  afar,  are  hailed  with 
delight  by  men  who  have  not  drunk  nor  smoked 
since  the  night  at  the  last  stopping-place.  To  pass 
without  moistening  his  clay,  would  be  to  the  aver- 


50  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

age  plains-man  an  act  strongly  indicating  mental 
decay. 

But  the  proportion  of  people  who  manage  to  live 
on  the  border  without  any  visible  means  of  support 
is  larger  than  it  is  anywhere  else  outside  of  the 
great  cities.  The  hangers-on  of  the  ranches  go  and 
come  unquestioned.  Their  dark  and  bearded  faces 
disappear,  and  they  are  gone,  perhaps  only  for  a 
day, — though  if  forever,  it  leads  to  no  inquiry  and 
excites  no  alarm.  It  is  certain  that  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  can  become  anything.  He  can  be  Indianized 
and  Mexicanized,  and  upon  the  frontier  he  becomes 
an  Arab  —  not  a  weak  imitation  or  intentional  pat- 
tern, but  of  his  own  kind,  and  after  his  own  fancies 
and  necessities.  Taciturn,  suspicious,  and  coura- 
geous, hospitable  in  peace  and  unscrupulous  in 
enmity,  the  Bedouin  of  the  border  is  a  man  who 
wears  clothes  of  a  familiar  pattern,  and  speaks 
English ;  and  there  his  resemblance  to  the  race 
from  which  he  sprung  almost  ends. 

Yet  the  verge  of  civilization  is  a  field  for  the 
gathering  together  of  all  kinds  and  classes.  Here 
is  the  patient,  plodding,  phlegmatic  German,  fast 
forgetting  every  tradition  of  his  fatherland  in  the 
absorbing  wildness  that  makes  all  men  alike. 
Here  is  the  Irishman,  with  the  rich  brogue  of  Tip- 
perary  still  upon  his  tongue,  but  changed  in  all  else 
which  tells  of  the  green  isle  of  peat,  potatoes,  and 
blarney.  Here  is  the  down-east  Yankee,  oblivious 
of  all  the  ideas  of  the  land  of  baked  beans  and  hard 
cider,  turning  his  native  cunning  to  account  at  poke)- 
and  California  jack.     Here  is  the  characteristic  son 


MEN  OF  THE  BORDER.  51 

of  the  Sgutli,  still  speaking  tlie  inincing  dialect  that 
has  been  borrowed  in  the  name  of  gentility  from  the 
thick  tongue  of  the  negro,  but,  for  a  wonder,  forget- 
ting to  insert  ''Sir"  at  the  ending  of  every  sen 
tence.  But  all  are  changed,  at  least  in  name.  Tlie 
German  has  become  "Dutch  Bill,"  or  "Dutch" 
something,  no  matter  what ;  the  Irislnnan  is  always 
"Pat."  The  New  Englander  often  answers  to  the 
name  of  "Yank,"  and  the  Southerner  is  willing  and 
proud  to  be  called  "Ivaintuck,"  or  "Tennessee,"  or 
even  "Cracker."  Thus  is  true  democracy  made 
manifest.  The  real  names  of  individuals  are  often 
unknown  to  acquaintances  of  years.  Any  peculiarity 
of  person  or  history  brings  about  its  apt  cognomen 
of  recognition.  The  man  who  squints  is  "Cock- 
eye" for  all  time.  The  lame  man  is  "Limpy," 
and  the  slender  and  attenuated  one  is  "Slim" 
Dick,  or  Tom,  or  whatever  the  name  that  was  once 
his  may  be.  The  surprising  thing  is  that  these 
names  are  accepted  and  gloried  in.  Indeed,  those 
that  are  born  of  some  peculiarity  of  personal  history 
are  proudly  borne.  To  be  Buffalo  Bill,  or  Fighting 
Joe,  is  to  be  famous.  "Mister"  is  the  designation 
of  a  stranger  ;  but  if  a  borderer  calls  an  individual 
"Mister"  after  he  has  known  him  a  week,  it  means 
that  he  does  not  particularly  like  him,  to  say  the 
least. 

Brusque  and  rude  as  all  this  seems,  there  is  no 
country  where  the  established  forms  are  more  rigidly 
observed.  If  you  are  invited  to  "take  sutliin',"  it 
is  offensive  to  refuse.  If  you  are  aslvcd  to  "set  up 
and  eat,"  it  is  not  a  mere  form;  you  are  not  only 


52  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

really  welcome,  but  expected  to  return  tlie  compli- 
ment should  your  host  ever  come  your  way.  In 
the  immense  expanse  of  country,  men  who  live  a 
liundred  miles  apart  are  often  near  neighbors  and 
intimate  friends.  The  necessities  of  the  frontier 
produce  a  freemasonry  in  comparison  with  which 
the  actual  brotherhood  is  a  tame  and  meaningless 
thing.  If  a  ranchman  lends  his  neighbor  a  mule 
and  tells  him  to  leave  it  at  Sims' s  or  Slocum's,  a 
hundred  miles  away,  he  is  certain  of  finding  the 
animal  there  when  wanted.  Honesty  and  punctual- 
ity are  the  current  exchange  of  the  country,  and  a 
short  shrift  and  a  sudden  ending  is  the  meed  of 
absolute  necessity  to  him  who  habitually  wrongs  his 
neighbor. 

Another  bond  of  union  among  all  white  men  on 
the  border  is  common  enmity  to  the  Indian.  Hatred 
of  the  Apache  and  the  Kiowa  will  be  the  uj^permost 
feeling  in  the  borderer's  mind  so  long  as  there  is  a 
disputed  territory  claimed  alike  by  him  and  his 
enemy.  Year  by  year  the  ranks  are  thinned  in  many 
an  encounter  that  is  never  heard  of  in  the  world 
of  newspapers,  and  year  by  year  the  frontiersman 
counts  fresh  accessions  to  his  ranks.  While  right 
and  justice  and  policy  are  discussed  elsewhere,  the 
contest  proceeds  without  any  abatement  between  the 
parties  interested.  The  sentence  of  doom  that  is 
written  against  the  red  man,  while  it  is  slow  in  its 
operation,  seems  utterly  irrevocable.  The  horde  of 
adventurers  who  invade  his  hunting-grounds  are 
hardy,  bold,  and  cunning  as  he.  Within  a  century 
one  of  the  great  divisions  of  a  common  family  will 


MEN  OF  THE  BORDER.  53 

have  passed  away,  and  its  only  liistory  will  be  a 
liistory  of  decadence  and  death,  j)i"<^served  in  the 
meagre  annals  of  its  first  and  last  enemy,  the  bor- 
derer. 

So  much  isolation  and  habitual  loneliness  has 
been  the  cause  of  curious  relationships,  and  of  these 
the  fashion  of  partnerships  is  a  remarkable  one. 
Two  men,  often  very  unlike,  will  associate  them- 
selves, not  so  much  as  sharers  in  the  gains  of  busi- 
ness or  adventure  —  though  that  is  also  included  — 
but  simply  as  "pards,"  adopted  brethren.  Each 
one's  quarrel  is  also  the  quarrel  of  the  other.  They 
are  always  encountered  together,  and  hold  all  trou- 
bles in  common,  together  with  all  pleasures.  In 
most  cases,  a  genuine  affection  seems  to  exist  be- 
tween them.  There  is  rather  an  opinion  that  who- 
ever has  no  "pard"  is,  until  cause  be  shown,  a 
rather  "mean  cuss,"  "who  can't  live  with  nobody." 
A  separation  of  two  partners,  and  a  dissolution  of 
the  mysterious  tie,  causes  as  great  a  scandal  as  a 
divorce  case  in  other  regions. 

But  there  is  yet  another  side  to  the  frontiersman's 
friendship.  His  neighborly  obligations  are  all  out- 
side the  obligations  imposed  by  the  sixth  command- 
ment. The  revolver  is  not  always  carried  about  for 
nothing,  and  its  owner  is  quick  of  hand  and  eye,  and 
generally  sure  of  his  weapon  and  his  aim.  There  is 
no  man  upcm  whom  a  reckless  code  of  honor  is  so 
fatally  and  foolishly  binding.  An  insult,  fancied  or 
real,  is  settled  then  and  there  with  a  life,  and  the 
bystanders  are  the  judges  of  the  fairness  of  tlie 
transaction.     To  maul  and  pummel  is  childish,  and 


54  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

leads  to  no  adequate  result ;  to  murder  is  gentle- 
inanlj  and  proper,  and,  withal,  the  fashion.  The 
old  code  of  tlie  duello  was  a  tame  and  insipid  thing 
compared  with  a  row  in  a  "saloon"  in  a  border 
town.  There  is  no  code,  no  law,  no  jury.  Each 
man,  in  the  heat  of  passion,  is  the  judge  of  the 
gravity  of  the  foolish  word,  the  drunken  insult,  the 
hastily-spoken  taunt,  or  the  ancient  grudge,  and 
therefore  gives  his  own  life  or  takes  another  for  it, 
as  depends  upon  his  soberness,  his  quickness,  or  his 
courage.  We  talk  of  the  fasliions  which  rule  society, 
where  there  is  society  ;  of  hoops,  panniers,  chignons, 
and  bustles,  with  all  their  accompanying  bonnets 
and  trains.  On  the  border,  men  willingly  die  to  be 
in  the  fashion. 

Human  nature  becomes  accustomed  to  all  sur- 
roundings that  are  forced  upon  it,  and  to  solitude 
easiest  of  all.  The  frontiersman  would  smile  if  you 
told  him  that  his  life  was  a  monotonous  one.  Want- 
ing even  the  newspaper,  he  is  more  gregarious  than 
other  men  are,  and  makes  a  companion  of  some- 
thing, and  even  an  animal  is  made  to  serve  in  that 
capacity  when  there  is  no  one  else.  The  dog,  dear 
as  he  is  to  many  men  everywhere,  is  doubly  a  friend 
in  the  wilderness.  His  master  sleeps  and  eats  and 
talks  with  him.  He  may  be  the  mangiest  cur  that 
evpr  barked.  Ko  matter ;  it  is  not  a  country  in 
which  to  be  too  particular.  There  is  another  animal 
that  commonly  leads  a  persecuted  life  and  dies  a 
violent  death  among  Christian  people,  that  here 
fmds  a  better  lot  and  more  appreciation.  Our  friend 
will  search  long  and  far  for  a  surplus  and  unneces- 


MEN  OF  THE  BORDER.  55 


sary  cat,  and  name  him  comically,  and  teach  him 
innumerable  tricks,  and  make  him  altogether  an 
important  member  of  his  household.  Sometimes,  in 
the  Southwest,  a  long-eared  and  solemn-counte- 
nanced little  ass  will  be  found  making  himself  very 
much  at  home  upon  the  premises,  clumping  clumsily 
about  the  shanty,  investigating  the  cookery,  climb- 
ing upon  the  bed,  and  going  in  and  out  with  an 
irresistibly  comic  air  of  proprietorship.  But  the 
opportunity  for  companionship  with  his  own  kind 
never  passes  unused  with  the  hermit  of  the  wilder- 
ness. There  are  nightly  gatherings  at  every  ranch, 
and  the  resource  for  amusement  is  usually  the  pas- 
time that  is  as  old  as  Babel :  that  of  story-telling. 
Each  man  has  something  to  say,  mostly  upon  the 
interesting  subject  of  his  own  adventures  and  past 
life,  and  palms  his  narratives  off  for  very  truth,  and, 
as  every  listener  knows,  usually  makes  them  as  he 
goes,  out  of  whole  cloth.  Some  of  the  most  out- 
rageous travesties  upon  truth  ever  said  or  sung  have 
beguiled  the  dull  hours  in  the  frontier  cabin.  The 
next  resource  is  the  card-table,  and  in  mining  dis- 
tricts the  sums  that  sometimes  change  hands  would 
startle  the  visitors  at  Saratoga.  With  most  frontiers- 
men gambling  is  a  passion,  and  some  of  them  are 
most  accomplished  members  of  the  card-dealing 
fraternity. 

It  should  not  be  imagined  that  this  man  is  impa- 
tiently waiting  the  coming  of  a  higher  civilization, 
or  that  he  even  wishes  it  to  come.  It  suits  him  as  it 
is,  and  when  the  change  comes  he  will  go.  It  is 
better  not  to  need  a  thing  than  to  have  it.     The 


66  FRONTIER  AR3IY  SKETCHES. 

unknown  life  of  every  man  is  more  or  less  a  protest 
against  law,  refinement,  obedience,  and  the  odious 
"duty."  Habit  has  accustomed  these  men  to  free- 
dom from  the  restraints  of  civilization  ;  from  a  bond- 
age that  all  men  sometimes  feel,  and  which  these,  at 
least,  will  never  renew.  They  have  discovered  that 
the  refinements  of  life  may  be  purchased  at  too  high 
a  price.  For  them  the  veneer  and  the  varnish  have 
cracked,  and  the  original  man  shows  through,  the 
savage  that  each  one  of  us  really  is.  In  these,  the 
unconquerable  impulses  of  eternal  nature  have  found 
permanent  expression.  They  are  those  who  will 
tolerate  never  again  the  monotony  of  society.  They 
have  abandoned  forever  the  daily  paper,  polished 
boots,  books,  insincere  conversation,  politics,  in- 
trigue, and  the  treadmill  endlessness  of  that  routine 
which  we  call  domestic  life. 

Our  frontiersman  has  his  excitements  and  his 
pleasures,  ferocious  and  deep,  and  for  which  he 
refuses  to  be  called  to  account  by  society  or  any 
earthly  authority.  The  man  who  shall  transfer  to 
canvas  some  one  of  the  scenes  which  each  midnight 
brings  to  the  inner  room  of  the  trader's  store  in  a 
]!^ew  Mexican  mining  camp,  and  shall  do  it  well, 
will  preserve  for  all  time  the  most  striking  feature 
of  American  frontier  life.  We  shall  see  the  dead 
silence  and  the  rapt  attention,  as  the  guttering  can- 
dles or  smoking  lamps  flare  upon  each  sun-browned 
and  grizzled  face  ;  the  hard  hands  and  hairy  arms  ; 
the  look  of  covert  exultation,  as  the  winner  draws 
toward  him  the  coin  and  the  bags  of  yellow  dust. 
We  shall  read  the  quick  glance  that  suspects  a  cheat, 


MEN  OF  THE  BORDER.  57 

and  the  deep  curse  that  records  a  mistake.  And 
standing  there,  ahnost  as  intent  as  the  players,  will 
be  those  who  watch  the  fascinating  passion  in  its 
varying  record  of  gain  or  loss.  The  dim  light  will 
throw  the  rough  beams  along  the  roof  into  shadows 
and  lights  with  grotesque  alternations,  and  blackness 
will  lurk  among  the  lounging  figures  in  nooks  and 
corners.  But  pervading  all  —  the  essence  of  the 
picture  —  will  be  that  suggestion  of  folly  and  ruin 
which  mere  words  cannot  paint :  that  look  upon 
faces  that  tells  of  tlie  homelessness  of  years,  the 
days  of  toil  and  sacrifice,  the  months  of  delving  and 
hoping,  all  gone  in  a  single  night ;  and  also  of  that 
bewitching  hope  that  ever  waits  upon  the  devotees 
of  the  god  of  chance,  and  the  end  of  which  is 
despair,  broken  hearts,  and  death. 


lY 

BROWN'S  REVENGE. 

OJO  CALIENTE  was  of  itself  a  prominent  fea- 
ture in  a  landscape  bare  and  brown,  and 
stretching  in  rocky  monotony  and  silence  for  leagues 
on  every  hand.  Even  to  those  wise  ones  who  find 
among  the  "  ologies  "  a  sufiicient  explanation  for  all 
the  strange  things  this  old  world  did  when  she  was 
very  young  and  soft,  the  decided  eccentricities  of 
nature  are  always  invested  with  something  of  the 
terror  of  mystery  and  the  charm  of  strangeness.  As 
for  this  particular  spot,  many  thoughtful  eyes  had^ 
looked  upon  it ;  many  wise  heads  had  speculated  at 
its  brink.  A  conical  mound,  very  symmetrical  in 
shape,  and  some  thirty  feet  in  height,  rose  from  the 
surrounding  plain.  Its  top  was  a  circular  basin, 
about  fifteen  feet  in  diameter  and  of  unknown  depth, 
always  full  of  limpid,  sparkling,  bubbling  water. 
There  alone  in  all  the  thirsty  land  the  delicious  ele- 
ment abounded,  rejoiced,  and  ran  over.  Clear,  pure, 
and  —  cold,  of  course?  No,  it  was  scalding  hot. 
There  was  the  wonder.  It  was  one  of  the  myste- 
rious openings  into  our  common  mother's  fervid 
heart.  Through  a  notch  in  the  rocky  basin's  edge 
the  stream  ran  over,  as  large  as  a  man's  body, —  a 
volume  that  might  have  supplied  a  town  with  hot 
baths,  and  almost  have  cleansed  the  grimy  denizens 
of  Constantinople  itself.     But  it  did  not  seethe  and 

58 


BROWN'S  REVENGE.  59 

rage,  and  then  compose  itself  in  intervals  of  fitful 
and  deceptive  slumber.  Through  all  seasons  and 
all  times,  through  heat  and  cold,  the  stream  was  as 
constant  as  woman's  love,  or  wickedness.  Where 
the  torrent  spread  itself  out  and  cooled  in  the  plain 
below,  the  tall  grass  and  coarse  weeds,  and  some 
hardy  ferns,  grew  rank  and  luxuriant,  with  their 
roots  constantly  bathed  in  a  frost-defying  warmth. 
And  the  terrapins  and  w^art-grown  lizards  and  long- 
legged  mottled  toads  gathered  there  and  lived  a 
fortunate  life.  Amid  the  dense  growth  and  balmy 
vapors  the  rattlesnake  forgot  to  stiffen  his  odious 
coils  in  a  half-year's  slumber,  and  lay  content  and 
stupid,  but  still  venomous,  all  the  season  througli. 
The  rough  bowlders  gathered  a  green  coat  of  slini}^ 
moss  as  they  lay  in  the  ooze;  and  in  winter,  when 
the  hoar-frost  or  the  light  snow  lay  on  all  the  hills, 
that  bit  of  verdure  was  like  a  flowery  acre  strayed 
from  the  tropics. 

Such  a  place,  lying  as  it  did  on  the  main  road 
from  the  low  country  to  the  hills,  had  not  failed  to 
attract  attention  and  suggest  a  use.  And  that  use 
was,  of  course,  in  accord  with  the  ideas  of  the  coun- 
try. Ojo  Caliente  was  a  ranch ;  and  while  to  a  cer- 
tainty the  ranch  idea  could  not  be  left  out,  there  was 
also  connected  with  it  a  new  idea  in  the  wilderness  : 
it  was  a  watering-place.  The  scalding  flood  was 
supposed  to  possess  medicinal  properties,  and  an 
enterprising  man  occupied  the  slope  of  the  hill  with 
a  rambling  adobe,  the  front  of  which,  standing  next 
the  travelled  road,  was  the  "store,"  while  an  array 
of  rude  chambers  straggled  up  the  slope  toward  the 


60  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

spring.  Each  room  was  farnislied  with  a  h^ng 
wooden  tub,  into  which  the  water  was  conducted  by 
a  trough.  Some  tall  cottonwoods  flourished  beside 
tlie  wall,  and,  gaining  vigorous  growth  from  the 
warm  stream  that  touched  their  roots,  gave  an  oasis 
charm  to  this  one  spot  in  the  treeless  landscape. 

The  place  was  likewise  a  hotel,  and  the  smoke  of 
some  camp-fire  arose  each  night  from  the  trampled 
and  dusty  spot  beside  the  garden,  and  mules  brayed 
within  the  square  enclosure  which  was  supposed  to 
be  a  sufficient  protection  against  the  Apache.  Here 
and  there  a  limping  rheumatic  sat  and  chafed  his 
limbs,  and  talked  of  his  complaint,  and  waited  for 
health.  Other  than  the  waters,  there  was  no  physi- 
cian there.  IS'either  was  there  any  pretence  of  infirm- 
ity as  an  excuse  for  idleness  and  pleasure.  There 
was  no  need  of  pretended  illness  in  this  region  as  an 
excuse  for  dissipation. 

The  proprietor  of  the  place  —  the  inventor  and 
maker  of  all  save  the  scalding  spring  itself — was  a 
man  whom  every  denizen  of  the  country  knew,  and 
none  knew  well.  He  had  come  from  no  one  knew 
or  ever  found  out  where,  and  had  improved  his  pos- 
sessions with  a  lavish  hand  and  no  small  expenditure 
of  money.  He  was  called  w^ealthy,  and  daily  added 
to  his  store.  His  cattle  grazed  upon  the  surround- 
ing hills,  and  with  rare  skill  and  vigilance  he  kept 
them  safe  from  the  universal  enemy.  His  place 
was  known  as  a  good  place,  and  his  meals  were 
"square"  meals.  As  neighbors  go  in  that  country, 
he  was  a  good  neighbor  ;  and  many  a  mule  was  lent, 
many  a  broken  wheel  mended,   and  many  a  meal 


BROWN'S   REVENGE.  61 


given  away,  for  men  whom  he  had  never  seen 
before.  Personally,  he  had  failed  to  take  upon  liim 
the  likeness  of  the  border.  Middle-aged  and  grave, 
he  dressed  in  a  civilized  garb,  and  his  oddly-sliaven 
face  had  in  it  a  look  of  settled  melanclioly.  By  a 
stranger,  all  these  things  were  seen  and  forgotten. 
"  Odd  feller,"  they  said,  as  they  passed  on  ;  "won- 
der where  he  come  from  ?  "   and  that  was  all. 

But  those  who  had  known  him  longer  had  stud- 
ied these  peculiarities  to  better  purpose.  There 
was  a  rumor  in  the  country  that  his  name  was  not 
really  Denliam,  and  in  many  a  camp-fire  talk  it  had 
been  remarked  that  no  man  had  ever  heard  him 
mention  the  place  of  his  nativity  or  speak  of  his 
family.  Yet  the  unconquerable  dialect  of  his  youth 
betrayed  him  as  an  Englishman  ;  and  this  was  the 
only  circumstance  they  could  absolutely  claim  as 
knowledge.  Yet  he  was  never  questioned ;  for, 
liking  him  well,  there  was  still  something  about 
him  that  forbade  familiarity. 

He  was  proverbially  quiet,  and  even  timid.  He 
carried  not  the  accustomed  arsenal  upon  his  belt, 
and  was  never  known  to  take  up  a  gun.  In  these 
things  his  servants  acted  for  him ;  and  while  he  had 
been  known  to  stand  calmly  at  his  door  and  watch 
an  Indian  running-fight  for  the  possession  of  his 
herds,  the  idea  of  actual  participation  in  the 
defence  seemed  never  to  have  ejitered  his  mind. 
So  they  sometimes  called  him  "the  preacher,"  and 
the  irreverent  nicknamed  him  "padre  ;"  and  when 
by  chance  he   heard  them,  he  turned  and  walked 


62  FRONTIER  AR3IY  SKETCHES. 

away  witli  a  peculiar  and  unwonted  look  upon  his 
melancholy  face. 

Once  when  a  miner  died  at  his  house,  and  was 
filled  with  that  late  repentance  that  usually  comes 
to  torment  the  closing  hours  of  a  hard  life,  Den- 
ham  stood  with  others  in  the  room.  They  told 
afterward  how  "  the  preacher  "  seemed  to  restrain 
himself  in  the  desire  to  say  or  do  something  at  the 
dying  sinner's  bedside.  He  came,  hesitated,  went 
away  again.  He  again  returned,  bringing  with  him 
a  small  worn  volume,  which  he  opened  and  tried  to 
read.  His  lips  were  dry  and  his  face  grew  pale,  as 
he  read:  "I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life;  he 
that  believeth  in  me — ."  His  voice  choked  in  the 
utterance  of  the  words  that  take  in  all  there  is  of 
hope ;  and  he  closed  the  book  and  left  the  place. 
There  were  those  who  were  ready  thereafter  to 
declare,  in  their  rough  fashion,  that  if  he  were  not 
a  preacher  he  ouglit  to  be. 

Frontiersmen  are  not  inclined  to  love  men  who 
are  not  of  their  kind.  But  in  this  case,  after  four 
years  of  divided  opinion,  the  larger  portion  of  that 
scattered  population  who  had  aught  to  do  with  the 
proprietor  of  Ojo  Caliente  were  ready  to  light  for 
him.  He  did  not  swear,  he  refused  to  drink,  he 
avoided  slang.  His  language  was  such  as  some  few 
of  them  could  hardly  understand;  and  with  every 
temptation  that  the  reckless  and  devil-may-care 
spirit  of  the  country  offered,  there  was  no  suspi- 
cion of  a  single  slip  in  his  conduct.  He  counselled 
])eace  in  the  midst  of  strife.  He  gave  advice  to 
those  who  asked  it,  but  meddled  with  the  affairs  of 


BROWN'S   REVENGE.  63 

none.  Each  man  believed  liimself  to  be  his  chief 
friend.  He  was  accounted  acute  and  far-sighted, 
and  a  crowd  of  men,  ever  ready  to  act  more  from 
impulse  than  reason,  made  discovery  of  that  fact. 
He  was  the  depository  of  the  confidence  of  every 
bearded  fellow  in  a  radius  of  a  hundred  miles,  and 
he  kept  the  secrets  like  a  priest.  But  none  could 
divest  him  of  his  strangeness.  He  read  books  — 
or,  rather,  a  book.  For  a  long  time  they  thought 
it  must  be  one  some  of  them  had  heard  of,  mayliaj) 
seen :  the  Bible.  But  when  one  of  their  number 
once  slyly  looked  at  the  open  page,  he  discovered 
that  other  scarcely  less  wonderful  volume,  Shak- 
speare.  Once,  on  a  frosty  night,  he  read  to  the 
story-tellers  around  the  fire  a  tale  that  had  in  it 
rather  more  of  that  wonderful  "touch  of  nature" 
than  they  were  accustomed  to  in  theirs,  and  they 
clamored  for  more,  and  listened  until  the  moon 
v/ent  down.  And  each  rough  son  of  the  wilder- 
ness carried  ever  after  a  bright  imagining  of  her 
who  would  have  borne  the  logs  for  Ferdinand,  and 
fancied  he  could  sometimes  hear  Ariel  sing  among 
the  pines. 

Men  who  lead  a  strange  life  are  generally  uncon- 
scious of  that  life's  strong  peculiarities.  Had  his 
friends  been  critical,  they  would  have  questioned  the 
motives  of  a  man  who,  while  so  unlike  them,  yet 
chose  to  live  among  them.  "With  all  his  kindness  he 
was  still  a  man  apart.  You  could  tell,  as  he  sat  with 
thoughtful  face  at  his  door  in  the  shimmering  sum- 
mer afternoon,  that  his  heart  was  not  in  this  country. 
He  started  at  the  slightest  sound.     He  scrutinized 


64  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

strange  faces  witli  a  kind  of  covert  interest,  and 
seemed  ever  ready  to  fly,  abandoning  all.  The  long- 
looked-for  mail  that  brought  letters  —  evidently  pre- 
cious things  even  to  the  coarse  and  apparently  hard- 
ened men  around  him; — brought  nothing  to  him.  If 
Ojo  Caliente  and  its  lonesome  landscape  was  not  his 
home,  then  where  could  it  be,  since  he  had  no  inter- 
est in  any  .other? 

It  is  well  known  that  the  lonely  graves  of  the 
border  sometimes  hide  strange  histories  —  strange 
and  untold.  The  boundless  waste  of  plain  and 
mountain  is  the  great  refuge  of  those  who  would 
hide  from  themselves.  It  is  not  the  man  doomed 
to  spend  the  days  of  his  years  between  granite  walls, 
not  he  who  sees  his  last  goods  go  down  under  the 
sheriif 's  hammer,  not  even  he  to  whom  law  is  inter- 
preted as  the  grim  code  which  puts  a  halter  upon 
his  neck  and  his  coffin  before  him,  who  knows  most 
of  remorse,  most  of  fear,  or  most  of  despair.  Of  all 
suffering  men,  he  suffers  most  who,  burdened  with 
unpunished  crimes,  hides  froin  the  world.  There  is 
a  punishment  that  comes  at  midnight,  that  no  man 
may  avoid.  This  is  hell.  There  is  need  of  none 
more  fiery.  You  think  faces  will  tell  the  tale;  but 
there  is  no  such  incomparable  liar  as  the  human 
countenance.  The  man  who  scowls  and  frowns  at 
the  fit  of  his  collar  or  the  quality  of  his  dinner  may 
live  long  and  carry  a  gnawing  devil  in  his  heart,  and 
give  no  sign. 

Thus  Denham  ate  and  slept  well,  and  looked 
after  his  affairs,  and  had  only  a  melancholy  face. 
JBut  he  was  Qv^r  watching.     As  he  sat  at  his  door, 


BROWN'S  REVENGE.  65 

and  the  evening  shadows  crept  downward  from  the 
mountain-tops,  he  could  see  the  dim  specks  upon  the 
brown  road  grow  larger  and  larger,  and  they  were 
never  out  of  his  sight  or  thoughts  until  nearness 
demonstrated  their  character  and  showed  him  their 
faces.  This  watchfulness  was  the  man's  characteris- 
tic ;  a  sign  of  long-past  trouble  or  crime,  whatever  that 
trouble  or  crime  was.  Not  that  his  friends  thought 
so.  Uneasy  watchfulness  might  have  a  thousand 
causes,  and  is  oftenest  not  regarded  at  all.  Once 
convict,  once  even  suspect,  and  all  signs  are  easily 
read  and  exaggerated  by  those  whose  function  it  is  to 
suspect  expertly.  And  yet  there  is  ever  more  than 
natural  oddity  in  the  man  who  walks  with  bent  head, 
and  locked  hands,  and  upon  whose  ordinary  occupa- 
tion creeps  ever  in  the  absent  action,  the  muttered 
word,  the  startled  look,  and  the  sudden  change  of 
countenance.  The  man  Denham  had  these  charac- 
teristics. "I  reckon  he's  the  feardest  of  Injins  of 
any  man  in  these  parts,"  his  neighbors  sometimes 
remarked.  He  was  afraid,  but  not  of  Indians.  There 
was  but  one  man  of  whom  Denham  stood  in  mortal 
fear,  and  he  knew  not  if  that  one  terrible  creature 
were  alive  or  dead. 

And  in  the  long  and  tedious  hours  that  wait  upon 
an  order  of  events  that  men  may  never  control  lest 
they  should  interrupt  retribution,  it  occurred  that 
Denham'^  ghost  came  at  last  and  sat  himself  down 
like  Banquo  at  the  feast.  Even  his  far  home  in  the 
wilderness  was  doomed  to  be  the  lure  of  fate  and  the 
cause  of  his  discomfiture.  For  with  grim  pertinacity 
men's  crimes,  even  their  mistakes,  do  often  hunt 
5 


Q6  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

tliem  out.  One  evening,  business,  or  a  not  uncom- 
mon desire  to  be  alone,  took  him  over  the  hill  and 
far  down  bj  the  sedgy  garden.  It  may  have  been 
that  his  brooding  mind  had  that  anticipation  of  evil 
which  we  imagine  our  inner  consciousness  sometimes 
has.  But  in  an  hour  he  returned  slowly  toward 
the  house,  his  hands  behind  him,  and  his  bent  and 
prematurely  gray  head  regarding  only  his  own  slow 
footsteps.'  Entering  at  the  rear,  he  passed  slowly 
through  the  low  rooms,  pushing  aside  the  canvas 
that  hung  as  a  door  before  the  entrance  to  each 
apartment.  The  frost  of  the  late  autumn  of  a  pros- 
perous year  had  come,  and  upon  rude  benches  a  half 
dozen  frontiersmen  sat  before  the  blazing  fire  in  the 
public  room,  engaged  in  the  old  business  of  story- 
telling. He  approached  the  strip  of  soiled  canvas 
which  hung  between  him  and  them,  slowly,  as  was 
his  wont ;  and  as  he  came  a  voice,  that  was  not  a 
familiar  one  fell  upon  his  ear.  It  was  not  familiar, 
for  the  man  was  a  stranger;  and  yet  that  coarse  and 
strident  laugh  was  like  a  knell  to  George  Denham, 
and  his  face  flushed  and  paled  as  he  sank  upon  a 
seat.  Then,  as  he  cautiously  peered  through  upon 
the  group,  he  saw  the  stranger,  lately  arrived,  full 
of  talk,  and  the  only  man  whose  coming  had  ever 
escaped  those  watchful  eyes.  He  was  not  a  creature 
to  be  frightened  at,  only  a  bearded  fellow  of  forty, 
red-faced  and  brawny-handed, —  as  evidently  a  man 
whose  best  years  had  been  spent  upon  the  border 
as  though  the  fact  had  been  placarded  upon  him. 
Already  he  was  on  familiar  terms  with  the  men 
around  him,   and  had  begun   the  narration   of  his 


BBOWN'S  REVENGE.  6Y 


adventures.  As  Denliam  waited  and  listened  behind 
the  curtain  lor  confirmation  of  his  fears,  he  knew  the 
stranger  did  not  lie  as  he  talked. 

''Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "I  never  were  here 
before,  but  I'm  usen  to  this  kind  o'  thing.  I  kim  to 
Californy  when  I  were  kind  o'  young,  about  '50, 
an'  kinder  struck  a  lead,  an'  made  money  mity  fast. 
I  stayed  'round  thar  fur  twelve  year, — yes,  I  reckon 
it  wus  twelve  year, —  an'  all  the  time,  gentlemen,  I 
had  a  woman  back  in  Injiany  whar  I  come  frum.  I 
don't  know  how's  this  might  strike  some  o'  you  ; 
but  I  had,  an'  it  were  a  long  time  to  wait,  you  bet 
ye.  An'  so  finally  I  concluded  I'd  go  back  an'  see 
my  old  gal,  awaitin'  so  long,  ye  know.  Well  (any 
gent  as  liafs  a  chaw  o'  terbacker  kin  accommodate 
me),  as  I  was  a  say  in'  (tliank  ye,  boss),  I  started 
fur  to  go  back  agin,  an'  when  I  got  down  to  Saccer- 
mento,  thinks  I,  what  ud  I  be  doin'  to  be  a  carryin' 
around  about  ten  thousan'  dollars  an'  suthin'  more  ? 
'  Buy  a  draft,'  sez  they.  'A  draft?'  sez  I ;  '  we  ain't 
usen  to  no  sicli  in  my  part  o'  the  countr^^'  But  the 
war  wuz  broke  out,  ye  know,  an'  I  see  some  mity 
purty  bills  —  they  called  'em  treas'ry  notes  —  as 
they  said  wuz  as  good's  the  old  gold.  Sez  I,  '  Mis- 
ter, them'll  do,'  an'  I  chucked  my  dust  inter  ten  o' 
the  biggest.  'Twar  a  mighty  small  roll,  I  tell  ye, 
for  to  be  wuth  ten  thousan',  an'  I  jest  folded  'em  into 
a  slip  o'  paper  an'  chucked  'em  into  my  jacket  pocket, 
an'  started.  It  war  careless,  I  know,  but  I  'lowed  I 
needn't  tell  of  'em  bein'  thar.  Well,  I  come  clear 
across,  an'  war  a' most  home,  'till  I  got  on  a  road  in 
the  state  of  Missoury.     We  wuz  a  hoopin'  it  up  one 


68  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

night,  scootin'  over  the  peraiy  at  about  forty  mile  a 
hour,  an'  I  went  to  sleep.  In  the  mornin',  gentle- 
men, when  I  felt  fur  my  money,  it  war  gone.  It's 
been  long  ago  now,  an'  all  past  an'  done  ;  but  I  tell 
you  it  mighty  nigh  got  me.  I  wuz  a  thinkin'  of  the 
old  gal  —  dreamin'  of  her,  in  fact,— an'  to  wake  in- 
the  mornin'  a  sittin'  in  a  seat  a  rattlin'  to'ards  home 
arter  twelve  year  o'  hard  work,  an'  busted  —  teetotal 
busted, — it  war  too  bad.  Gentlemen,  I  ain't  much 
on  the  weakness,  but  I  could  a'  cried.  I  tackled  the 
conductor.  Sez  he,  'There  ain't  no  man  got  off  this 
'ere  train  sence  two  o'clock,  an'  you  got  on  at  one.' 
Then  he  ask  'em,  sez  he,  '  Will  any  man  objec'  to 
bein'  sarched  ? '  An'  they  sez  no.  Ther  wuz  no 
crack  or  chink  o'  that  car  we  didn't  sai»ch.  Ther 
wuz  no  wimmin  on,  an'  hadn't  been,  an'  no  man  cud 
naterally  objec'.  Finally,  sez  the  conductor,  sez  he, 
'You  ain't  never  had  it.'  I  jest  knocked  him  inter 
a  cocked  hat.  I  wuz  2'iled,  an'  it  wuz  a  comfort  for 
to  do  it.  An'  then  I  jest  clim'  down  oiPn  that  train 
an'  started  back.  I  hain't  seen  my  old  woman  — 
shan't  never  see  her  —  she's  dead.  Gentlemen,  I'm 
a  busted  man.  I  don't  claim  to  be  nuthin'  else. 
.  .  .  .  Kin  you  accommodate  me,  pard  ?  —  thank 
ye." 

As  the  speaker,  with  indescribable  gusto,  placed 
another  quid  in  his  mouth,  there  was  a  perceptible 
feeling  around  the  circle  of  listeners.  It  is  mistaken 
philosophy,  and  mistaken  religion,  to  speak  of  the 
hardness  of  the  human  heart.  It  is  careless  and 
selfish,  but  there  is  no  more  responsive  thing  when 
awakened  by  that  unstudied  strain  which  is  like  the 


BROWN'S  REVENaE. 


harmony  we  may  liear  wlieii  the  chords  of  a  harp 
are  touched  by  a  baby's  fingers  or  by  a  passing 
robe.  It  was  not  intended,  and  a  thousand  attempts 
might  not  reproduce  it.     It  was  music,  nevertheless. 

"  But,"  said  one,  who  was  younger  than  the  rest, 
''  why  did  you  not  go  home  ?  What  did  ye  act  that- 
a-way  for  ? " 

Then  the  stranger  turned  his  head  slightly  to  one 
side,  and  closed  his  opposite  eye,  and  regarded  the 
speaker  for  a  brief  moment.  It  was  the  pantomime 
which  means,  "What  ails  youf^ 

"Air  ye  aware,  young  feller,  that  a  man  can't  go 
home  arter  twelve  year,  poor  an'  ragged  an'  ornery, 
an'  tell  'cm  he  had  a  lot  o'  money  stole  from  him 
night  afore  last?  Do  ye  think  a  man's  mother-in- 
law  'd  b'lieve  any  sich  thin  stuff?  "  Then,  as  the 
younger  one  retired  into  the  shade  of  contempt,  the 
speaker  turned  again  toward  the  circle  of  silent  lis- 
teners, and  continued  :  "Ye  see,  under  sich  circum- 
stances, a  feller  keeps  his  ragged  britches  on  a 
purpose.  He  thinks  he's  a  goin'  for  to  hug  his  wife, 
an'  kiss  his  babies,  an'  be  independenter'n  a  mule, 
an'  play  it  low  down  on  'em  all  fur  about  a  week, 
an'  then  tell  'em  all  about  it,  so's  to  'stonish  'em, 
and  finally  buy  a  farm.  A  feller  kind  o'  wants  to 
make  it  as  creamy  as  possible,  ye  know.  An'  then 
to  be  tee  total  busted.  Them's  hard  lines,  gentle- 
men ;  I  say  them's  hard  lines." 

And  all  this  time  Dcnham  sat  unseen  behind  the 
narrow  curtain,  and  watched  and  listened.  It  was 
dark  there,  and  only  one  lance  of  yellow  light  from 
the  bright  fire  lay  across  his  face.     At  first  his  coun- 


70  FRONTIER   ARMY  SKETCHES. 

tenance  liad  a  look  of  consternation,  as  lie  glanced 
at  his  new  guest,  and  felt  liis  pockets,  and  looked 
into  a  far  dark  corner  where  lav  an  expressman's 
portable  safe,  probably  purchased  at  some  quarter- 
master's auction  sale.  Then,  as  the  conversation 
went  on,  his  look  changed,  his  mood  melted,  and 
the  dim  shadow  of  a  strong  resolve  came  into  his 
eyes.  But  no  one  can  describe  the  emotional  pan- 
orama a  man's  face  is  supposed  to  present  under 
such  circumstances  ;  because,  if  these  changes  occur 
at  all,  it  is  only  when  the  restraint  of  other  eyes  is 
taken  away.  I  have  already  said,  with  the  man 
Denham  as  an  example,  that  men's  faces  are  great 
liars.  But  a  change  came  over  him  as  he  listened, 
whether  perceptible  or  not.  He  arose  quietly  and 
went  to  the  safe  that  lay  in  the  corner.  He 
took  a  key  from  his  pocket,  and  very  silently  and 
cautiously  took  from  the  safe  a  packet,  seemingly 
a  folded  written  document  of  some  length.  Then 
he  went  quietly  back,  and  seated  himself  again, 
listening  intently  to  the  stranger's  story. 

They  were  hard  lines,  he  had  said ;  and  almost 
as  he  uttered  the  words,  Denham  came  among  the 
group.  He  did  not  sit  down,  but  where  the  light 
fell  full  upon  his  face,  stood  regarding  the  stranger. 

"Do  you  know  me  ?  "  said  he. 

"Wy  — well,  no  — not  adzactly.  How'd  do?" 
and  the  good  fellow  rose  and  proffered  his  hand 
with  a  look  of  inquiry  and  anticipation. 

Denham  feigned  not  to  see  the  hand,  which  it 
seemed  he  dare  not  take  ;  and  when  the  stranger 
had  seated  himself  again  he  stood  looking   at   the 


BROWN'S  REVENGE.  11 


fire  ill  forced  calmness,  but  his  eyes  were  anxious, 
and  liis  voice  was  hoarse.  Presently,  as  by  a 
mighty  eiFort,  he  said  : 

"Friends,  I  have  something  to  say  to  this  man, 
William  Brown," — the  stranger  started,  —  "and  to 
you  alL  Please  listen  to  me,  and  understand  that 
I  do  appoint  you  all  to  be  my  judges  and  my  jury. 
Some  of  you  tried  and  hanged  the  horse-thief  at 
Pin  OS  Altos,  and  two  of  you  captured  and  brought 
back  the  man  wlio  killed  Tom  Hicks,  and  he  was 
tried  and  condemned.  I  am  ready  to  stand  by  your 
verdict.      God  knows,  I  want  no  better  men." 

The  bronzed  and  bearded  group  upon  whom  tlie 
firelight  glanced  as  this  man  seemed  to  place  liis 
life  in  their  hands,  sat  silent.  It  may  not  have 
seemed  as  strange  to  them  as  it  does  to  the  reader. 
They  were  the  law-makers,  as  well  as  the  execu- 
tives, of  the  country  in  which  they  lived  ;  good  men 
and  true.  IN'o  cringing  prayers,  no  promises,  no 
tears,  availed  with  them.  Yet  the  American  history 
which  is  yet  to  be  written  will  not  deny  justice  to 
the  grim  law-makers  of  the  border.  Every  man's 
life  was  in  his  brother's  hands.  They  dealt  justly, 
not  as  under  the  abstract  obligations  of  an  oath, 
but  as  every  man  himself  hoped  for  justice. 

Perhaps  they  did  not  quite  understand  the  speak- 
er's words ;  but  they  sat  unmoved,  and  waited.  It 
was  not  a  hasty  court, —  they  would  see  it  all  clearly 
by  and  by.     The  speaker  continued  : 

"William  Brown,  I  have  heard  your  story,  and 
I  declare  to  these  men  that  it  is  true.  See  here," 
and  he  held  up  in  his  hand  a  small  square  volume ; 


72  FRONTIER  AR3IY  SKETCHES. 

''this  is  a  Bible.  I  believe  this  book  to  be  God's 
book,  and  on  it  I  solemnly  swear  that  /  am  the 
man  that  robbed  William  Br  own. '^'^ 

A  look  passed  from  one  to  the  other  round  the 
circle,  but  no  man  spoke.  Only  the  stranger  rose 
up.  Some  who  read  this  may  imagine  the  ease 
with  which  a  man  comes  at  last  to  handle  a  long- 
accustomed  tool.  The  soldier  and  his  musket  are 
almost  one,  and  there  is  a  flash-like  celerity  with 
which  the  Lascar  slips  his  crooked  knife  from  its 
greasy  scabbard  into  the  bowels  of  his  antagonist. 
Such  as  this  is  the  intimacy  of  the  borderer  with 
his  weapon.  Ere  Denh^m  could  speak  again,  or 
scarcely  look  round,  the  slender  muzzle  of  Brown's 
pistol  was  in  his  face. 

But  there  were  other  eyes  and  hands  equally 
quiclc,  and  as  the  avenger  hesitated  a  moment  to 
say  something,  old  Joe  Maxwell's  hand  was  upon 
his  arm.  "Sit  down,  stranger,"  he  said;  "we're 
a  tryin'  this  case,  an'  don't  want  no  interferin'," 
and  his  gray  eye  had  a  look  which  meant  more  than 
his  words. 

Borne  up  by  the  sense  of  his  lofty  purpose.  Den- 
ham  stood  calm,  and  in  the  silence  which  ensued 
took  from  his  pocket  the  packet,  wliich  he  unfolded, 
and  handed  it  to  old  Maxwell. 

"Can  you  read  it?  "  said  he. 

The  old  frontiersman  looked  doubtfully  at  it, 
handed  it  back,  and  remarked,  "  Eead  it  yerself,  an' 
I  reckon  we'll  git  the  sense  on  it." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Denham,  "this  is  my  will 
and  my  story  together.     I  wrote  it  more  than  a  year 


BROWN'S   REVENGE.  7S 

ago,  for  a  man  may  die,  and  though  I  never  tliought 
to  divulge-  its  contents  during  my  life,  yet  the  time 
is  come  when  it  is  best  that  it  should  be  known.  I 
can  remedy  my  QfFence,  die  happier,  and  be  tliought 
better  of  when  I  am  dead.  As  between  this  man 
and  me,  I  have  suffered  most,  and  justly.  I  could 
tell  my  story,  but  it  is  already  written  here." 

His  auditors  were  probably  not  conscious  of  it, 
but  as  he  stood  there,  close  by  the  guttering  candle, 
with  a  peculiar  and  glorifying  light  upon  his  face,  he 
greatly  impressed  them.  His  manner  was  that  of  a 
man  who  has  overcome — who  has  conquered  himself. 
He  opened  the  paper  and  solemnly  read  what  is  here 
set  down : 

"In  the  Name  of  God,  Amen.  I,  James  Dodd, 
clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England,  of  Witham,  in 
the  county  of  Essex,  and  now  of  the  United  States 
of  America,  do  herein  write  my  last  Will  and  Tes- 
tament, and  do  hereby  enjoin  upon  all  that  it  shall  be 
duly  executed,  though  wanting  legal  form,  and  with- 
out witnesses,  for  I  would  that  I  might  die  without 
shame,  and  that  none  should  read  until  I  am  dead. 

"I  give  unto  William  Brown,  once  of  the  state 
of  Indiana  and  now  of  parts  unknown,  and  unto  his 
heirs  and  assigns,  my  property  of  Ojo  Caliente,  and 
all  lands,  houses,  appurtenances,  and  fixtures  thereto 
belonging.  And  I  give  unto  him  my  strong-box  and 
all  therein,  namely,  twenty-three  thousand  dollars  in 
coin  ar.d  dust.  I  give  unto  him  and  them  all  my 
cattle  and  goods,  and  all  property  of  all  kinds,  to 
have,  hold,  and  use  the  same  forever. 


74  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


''And  I  liereby  enjoin  upon  all  to  whom  this  shall 
come  when  I  am  dead,  that  they  by  no  means  hinder 
the  nijunctions  of  this  my  Testament;  for  I  do  most 
solemnly  declare  that  what  I  give  J:o  the  said  Will- 
iam Brown  is  already  his,  and  to  the  doubting  I 
commend  the  following,  my  confession : 

''I  am  fifty-four  years  of  age.  I  was  born  in  the 
county  of  Essex,  in  England,  and  came  to  America 
iu  the  year  184-8.  I  was  a  clergyman,  and  all  my 
life,  until  the  time  whereof  I  speak,  I  have  feared 
God,  and,  praying  alwaj^s,  walked  in  Ilis  law.  If 
they  yet  live,  I  have  a  wife  and  two  daughters, 
whereof  the  eldest  must  now  be  twenty  years  old. 
More  of  theui  I  will  not  speak;  for  since  my  fall  they 
have  not  seen  my  face,  and  I  would  that  they  and  I 
should  suffer  all  manner  of  apprehension  and  sorrow, 
and  that  they  should  mourn  me  as  dead,  rather  than 
know  of  my  sin  and  crime. 

"  I  was  poor ;  and  though  I  urge  not  that  as  any 
excuse,  God  knows  the  longing  of  a  man  for  his  fam- 
ily's sake.  I  thought  often  of  how  T  should  improve 
my  condition,  and  dreamed  of  wealth.  Yet  I  could 
not  attain  it.  I  dare  not  abandon  a  calling  for  which 
God  and  not  my  flock  knew  how  little  I  was  fitted, 
for  it  secured  at  least  my  bread.  Thinking  these 
thoughts,  I  was  on  a  railway  train  in  the  state  of 
Missouri,  on  the  night  of  December  22,  1862.  On 
the  car  were  only  eleven  persons  —  males  ;  for  it  was 
a  bitter  night.  I  arose  and  stood  near  the  stove, 
where  a  lamp  burned  dimly  above  my  head.  And 
as  I  stood  there,  there  came  a  man,  and  standing 
beneath    the  light,    and    seemingly  careless   of  my 


BROWN'S  REVENGE.  75 

presence,  he  took  from  the  pocket  of  his  vest  a  small 
liat  package,  folded  in  a  slip  of  yellow  paper,  upon 
which  was  a  name.  He  unfolded  the  package,  and 
as  I  looked  he  covmted  certain  notes,  called,  as  I 
knew,  treasury  notes.  I  perceived  that  there  were 
ten  of  them,  and  that  each  was  of  the  denomination 
of  one  thousand  dollars. 

"I  went  again  to  my  seat,  and  the  man  to  his. 
But  I  pondered  what  I  had  seen.  In  my  heart  I 
tliought  that  God  had  not  been  just  to  me.  The 
man  I  saw  was  a  rough  and  uneducated  man,  and 
he,  I  thought,  will  spend  all  this  in  the  pleasures  of 
his  kind,  while  I,  knowing  so  much  more  of  the  good 
that  money  may  be  made  to  do,  am  deprived  of  all. 

"And  I  thought  further.  How,  said  I,  might  a 
man  obtain  this  money  and  go  happy  and  unpun- 
ished ?  I  knew  that  mere  criminals  were  fools,  easily 
detected,  and  betraying  guilt  that  any  skill  would 
enable  them  to  hide;  but  I  thought  I  could  do  better 
than  a  common  thief.  Where  should  I  hide  it,  that 
I  might  calmly  defy  search  ?  I  arose  and  went  near 
the  man,  and  I  saw  that  one  small  corner  of  the 
package  was  above  his  pocket.  My  face  burned  ;  I 
could  feel  the  blood  rushing  through  my  veins.  So 
near  it  seemed,  so  easy.  I  went  again  and  looked 
into  my  small  and  poorly-furnished  travelling-bag. 
There  was  no  hiding-place  there,  for  men  look  keenly 
into  linings  and  corners  wherever  they  may  be,  and 
there  is  where  mere  thieves  make  mistakes.  But  I 
unconsciously  took  into  my  hand  the  commonest 
article  in  life:  a  piece  of  soap  —  only  a  small  square, 
new  and  unused.     I  carried  this  with  me  to  the  plat- 


76  FRONTIER  ARMV  SKETCHES. 

form,  a  place  where  I  remember  the  wind  howled 
and  the  fine  snow  drifted  and  cut  my  face.  I  cut 
from  the  end  a  small  mortise  and  carefully  saved  the 
piece.  Then  I  hollowed  out  the  interior,  not  too 
much,  and  threw  away  the  crumbs.  I  remember  the 
simple  and  childish  piece  of  work  as  vividly  as 
though  with  the  same  knife  I  had  cut  a  throat.  I 
again  approached  the  sleeping  man,  snoring  heavily 
upright  in  his  seat.  I  looked  about  me ;  there  was 
not  a  wakeful  person  in  the  car.  As  I  gently  drew 
from  his  pocket  the  packet,  and  knew  that  I  held  ten 
thousand  dollars  in  my  hand,  my  hair  seemed  to  rise 
upon  my  head,  and  all  my  life,  with  everything  good 
in  it,  went  backward.  But  it  seemed  too  late  to 
retreat.  It  was  done,  and  I  sealed  the  money  in  the 
soap-cake,  bruised  the  end  that  had  been  cut,  as 
though  by  falling,  and  placed  the  whole  in  my  bag. 

"  Very  soon,  it  seemed  to  me,  the  man  awoke 
and  called  out  that  he  had  been  robbed.  The  doors 
were  locked,  the  train  stopped,  and  every  one 
offered  himself  for  search.  Every  nook  was  inves- 
tigated. I  offered  myself  and  all  my  belongings 
with  avidity,  for  having  yielded  to  crime,  I  became 
hardened.  The  cake  of  soap  fell  upon  the  floor;  a 
man  picked  it  up,  smelled  of  it,  and  finally  it  was 
tossed  upon  a  seat  and  lay  there  for  many  minutes. 

"Finally  it  became  apparent  that  the  money 
could  not  be  found,  and  there  was  a  general  impres- 
sion that  the  man  had  lost  none.  But  when  he  was 
told  as  much,  the  speaker  was  stricken  a  blow  that 
might    almost    have    killed    him,    and    the    cruelly 


BROWN' 8   REVENGE.  77 

wronged  man  left  the  train  and  went  away,  raving 
and  cursing,  into  tlie  bitter  night. 

''But  as  the  train  sped  on  its  way,  there  was  one 
even  more  wretclied  than  he.  I  was  afraid  of  my 
shadow.  I  dared  not  return  to  my  innocent  wife 
and  prattling  children,  and  attempt  to  account  for 
my  wealth.  Since  then,  I  have  not  seen  them, — 
no,  nor  any  creature  who  could  remind  me  of  the 
days  of  my  innocence  and  happiness.  I  have  been 
punished,  for  I  would  give  my  life  to  see  those 
toward  whom  I  may  never  again  turn." 

The  reader  ceased,  and  turning  from  his  manu- 
script, said:  "And  now  may  God,  through  Christ, 
forgive  all  my  sins,  and  restore  this  man  his  own, 
and  let  me  die.-' 

There  was  a  deep  silence.  The  stranger  had 
changed  from  red  to  pale,  and  sat  gazing  at  the  fire, 
his  fingers  twitching  nervously,  and  an  indescribable 
look  in  his  eyes.  Perhaps  years  had  quenched  the 
bitterness  of  his  wrong;  and  as  he  heard  the  story 
of  the  man  who  had  suffered  more  than  he,  he 
seemed  to  forget  vengeance.  Finally,  old  Maxwell 
rose,  hitched  up  his  waist-band,  and  desired  to  hear 
the  opinion  of  his  comj)eers,  adding,  "It  are  bad, 

an'    sneakin,    an'    a    d d    low-down    game    all 

through ;  but  'tain't  no  killin'  'fence,  in  my  opin- 
ion." But  when  he  sat  down,  there  was  no 
response.  The  groups  sat  silent,  looking  into  the 
dying  fire,  their  heads  bent,  and  each  man  evidently 
thinking  more  of  the  strangeness  of  the  story  tlian 
of  his  function   as  juryman.     Finally  the  stranger 


78  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

arose  slowly,  buttoned  his  ragged  coat,  looked 
around  upon  the  group,  and  advanced  slowly  toward 
Denhani. 

"Parson,"  said  he,  "I  told  ye  all  I  wuz  busted. 
I  ain't  got  no  luck.  My  gaPs  dead  years  ago,  an' 
my  friends  is  forsook  me.  It's  been  so  long  sence  I 
had  a  raise  I  don't  know  how  sech  a  thing  'ud  feel. 
You  done  it, —  done  it  sneakin'ly  on  a  sleepin'  man. 
I  don't  want  nothin'  now, — I  don't  want  yer  bilin' 
spring,  nor  yer  orspital,  nor  yer  money,  notuth- 
standin'  it's  more  than  I  ever  had.  Ye  kin  burn 
yer  will, — ye  kin  keep  yer  curse;  an'  I'd  even 
scorn  to  kill  ye.  Let  me  tell  you  suthin  that,  with 
all  yer  smartness,  ye  ain't  learned  yit.  Ye  can't 
blarst  a  man's  life,  an'  cure  it  all  by  givin'  back.  I 
hain't  no  children,  no  wife,  no  home,  no  character, 
no  nuthin';  an'  ye  can't  give  them  things  to  me.  I 
tell  ye  I'm  busted,  an'  you  done  it.  I  want  none  of 
yer  trumpery  ;  keep  it, —  an'  be  damned  eternally 
to  ye!" 

And  hurling  this  frightful  anathema  behind  him, 
he  strode  through  the  open  door  and  out  into  the 
night,  and  his  footsteps  died  away  upon  the  road. 

One  by  one  the  men  arose,  and  silently,  with  no 
glance  aside,  went  away,  leaving  James  Dodd,  cler- 
gyman and  thief,  alone  in  his  stolen  house  and  with 
his  stolen  wealth.  They  spent  no  time  in  parleying  ; 
they  passed  no  sentence,  and  it  may  be  that  thej^ 
even  pitied  him ;  but  at  least  he  was  forsaken  and 
despised  in  the  midst  of  disgrace  and  crime. 

Some  passing  traveller  found  him  there;  for 
when   the   frosty    sunlight    streamed    through    the 


BROWN'S  REVENGE.  79 

dusty  panes  in  tlie  early  morning,  the  face  it  slione 
upon  was  a  dead  man's  waxen  mask.  The  suicide 
had  ended  all  with  one  ghastly  gash  from  ear  to  ear. 
It  was  long  ago.  The  spring  murmurs  on,  and 
the  tall  cotton  woods  grow  green  and  beautiful  in 
the  desert.  Nature  and  truth  alone  are  triumphant. 
"With  all  the  characters  of  its  little  tragedy  dead  and 
forgotten,  Ojo  Caliente  is  still  a  green  oasis  in  the 
brown  landscape,  in  no  way  more  remarkable  for 
having  been  the  scene  of  Brown's  Revenge. 


OOPPEK  DISTILLED. 

THE  most  extraordinary  of  all  the  efforts  of 
American  romance  are  those  which,  without 
any  foundation  in  truth,  have  created  the  widely- 
accepted  picture  of  the  American  Indian.  When 
confronted  with  the  actual  hero,  the  beautiful  char- 
acters of  Cooper  cease  to  attract,  and,  indeed, 
become  in  a  sense  ridiculous.  Lordly,  reticent, 
content,  eloquent,  brave,  faithful,  magnanimous, 
and  truthful,  he  made  those  sons  of  the  forest 
seem,  whose  scattered  descendants  now  linger  upon 
coveted  reservations,  and,  in  unhappy  squalor,  seem 
patiently,  if  not  lazily,  to  await  final  oblivion. 
Filthy,  brutal,  cunning,  and  very  treacherous  and 
thievish,  are  their  descendants  and  relatives  who 
still  wander  in  a  condition  of  marauding  indepen- 
dence west  of  us.  Every  tradition  repeating  the 
story  of  Indian  bravery,  generosity,  and  hospitality, 
fades  like  mist  before  the  actual  man.  The  quality 
of  moral  degradation,  inborn  and  unmitigated,  runs 
through  the  whole  kindred,  from  King  Philip  and 
Ked  Jacket  down  to  Sa-tan-te,  Sitting  Bull,  Kicking 
Bird,  and  Spotted  Tail.  The  common  instincts  of 
savagery,  as  illustrated  in  all  the  tribes  and  kin- 
dreds of  the  world,  are  intensified  in  these.  Brave 
only  in  superior  numbers  or  in  ambush,  honest  only 
in  being  a  consummate  hypocrite,  merry  only  at  the 


COPPER   DISTILLED.  81 

sight  of  suiFering  inflicted  by  liis  own  hand,  friendly 
only  through  cunning,  and  hospitable  never,  and, 
above  all,  sublimely  mendacious  and  a  liar  always, 
the  Indian,  as  he  really  is  to  those  who  unfortunately 
know  him,  seems  poor  material  out  of  which  to 
manufacture  a  hero  or  frame  a  romance.  All  mis- 
sionary and  philanthropic  efforts  made  in  his  behalf 
have  thus  far  failed  to  amend  his  life  or  change  his 
morals.  Always  prominent  in  the  history  of  the 
country,  ever  to  the  fore  in  philanthropic  literature 
and  high-plane  oratory,  always  the  impediment  to 
be  removed,  and  afterward  the  dependant  to  be  sup- 
ported, mollified  by  semi-annual  gifts,  and  oiled  and 
pacified  by  periodical  talks  about  the  Great  Father 
and  blarney  about  "brothers,"  through  campaigns, 
councils,  treaties,  and  tribal  relations,  he  has  finally 
come  to  almost  the  last  years  of  his  career,  with 
only  the  one  redeeming  fact  upon  his  record,  that  he 
has  never  been  tamed  and  never  been  a  servant. 
Neither  has  the  hyena. 

The  ordinary  reservation  Indian  is  not  a  curi- 
osity. The  greasy  red  blanket,  the  variegated  shirt, 
the  extraordinary  hat,  the  shanky  -legs,  the  brass 
jewelry,  the  shuffling  gait  and  inturned  toes,  the 
encrusted  rancidity,  are  seen  every  circus-day,  and 
give  such  other  evidences  of  nearness  as  even  a 
blind  man  need  not  mistake.  He  sometimes  indulges 
himself  with  a  change  of  scene,  and  travels  for  his 
health,  and  threads  the  usual  one  long  street  of  the 
Western  town  with  his  motley  cavalcade  of  lean 
ponies,  rawhide  paniers,  squaws,  young  ones,  and 
colts.     But  the  details  of  an  unsought  and  irksome 


82  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

acquaintance  with  the  wilder  tribes  of  the  plains  and 
mountains  may  more  probably  contain  here  and 
there  au  item  of  interest. 

And  if  one  knows  the  Indian  of  eastern  Kansas 
one  need  have  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  on  sight 
his  brother  of  the  plains.  The  family  resemblance 
is  complete.  Stolidity,  and  a  surly  indiiference 
that  passes  for  dignity,  are  noticeable  traits  of 
first  acquaintance.  To  sit  around,  to  loaf,  to  be 
always  present  where  not  wanted,  to  go  and  come 
as  though  all  hours  and  seasons  and  all  enclosures 
were  his  own,  are  some  of  the  endearing  amiabili- 
ties that  he  practises  when  not  on  the  war-path, 
and  while  he  is  on  speaking  terms  with  that  other 
power,  the  government  of  the  United  States.  When 
not  oifended  by  some  dereliction  in  etiquette  undis- 
coverable  by  any  but  himself,  he  is,  contrary  to  the 
general  opinion,  garrulous  as  a  magpie  and  inquisi- 
tive as  a  coyote.  He  does  not  go  home  when  he 
can  find  any  other  place,  and  will  make  a  long  sit- 
ting on  the  agent's  door-step,  without  much  apparent 
anxiety  about  the  welfare  of  his  family.  I  have 
written  the  word  "home"  with  a  knowledge  of  its 
great  inappropriateness  to  anything  that  may  be  an 
Indian's.  If  he  has  any,  it  is  the  lodge,  erected  in 
the  open  prairie,  and  apparently  as  far  as  possible 
from  any  water.  It  is  the  "  tepee  "  from  which  was 
taken  the  idea  of  that  cumbersome  and  elaborate 
tent  familiar  to  all  during  the  first  year  or  two  of  the 
great  war.  The  clean  and  carefully-sewed  skins 
which  form  the  cover  represent  many  weeks  of  hard 
squaw  labor.      The  poles  were  brought  from  the 


COPPER  DISTILLED.  83 

mountains,  perhaps  hundreds  of  miles  awaj,  and 
are  worn  smooth  with  constant  dragging.  Within 
this  lodge  is  gathered  all  there  is  of  Indian  comfort. 
Around  the  walls  lie  piles  of  skins  —  the  beds  and 
clothing  of  a  numerous  family  indeed,  if  both  Indians 
and  insects  are  to  be  counted.  In  the  intervals  of 
occupation  by  the  first-named,  they  are  usurped  by 
a  horde  of  dogs,  who  are  less  to  be  blamed  than 
pitied.  If  there  be  a  fire,  it  is  of  that  curious  fuel 
called  "buffalo  chips."  It  is  kindled  in  the  centre, 
and  the  fuel  is  left  to  burn,  or  merely  to  smoke,  as 
shall  happen  on  that  particular  day,  and  the  smoke 
is  left  to  find  its  way  out  on  the  supposition  tliat  the 
interior  must  finally  become  too  full  to  hold  any 
more. 

Between  the  straggling  lodges  loiter  the  popula- 
tion who  by  chance  find  themselves  there  in  the 
intervals  of  looking  after  the  agent,  and  the  soldiers' 
and  ofiicers'  quarters;  children,  young  men,  and  the 
variety  known  under  the  disrespectful  headi\ig  of 
"bucks."  Dangling  from  " saddles,  tied  to  poles, 
and  hung  to  every  available  projection,  are  ragged 
pieces  and  bloody  lumps  of  bufi'alo-meat,  the  whole 
sum  of  the  ordinary  commissariat,  in  all  stages  of 
odorous  decay. 

Everywhere  and  always  the  men  are  idle  and 
the  squaws  at  work.  The  hideous  and  tootliless 
crone,  the  picture  of  unpitied  age  and  misery,  is 
never  too  old  to  toil,  never  old  enough  to  rest. 
To  her  and  her  daughters  fall  all  the  endless  tasks 
of  a  nomadic  life.  Her  place  is  that  of  a  slave  ;  a 
sli^ve  born  and  predestined,  to  whojn  rest  and  liberty 


84  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

shall  never  come.  She  is  beaten,  abused,  reviled, 
driven  like  any  other  beast  of  burden.  She  is 
bought  and  sold  ;  wife,  mother,  and  pack-animal, 
joined  in  one  hideous  and  hopeless  whole  —  a 
squaw.  Slie  must  know  but  one  lesson :  to  toil 
and  be  silent.  ]N"evertheless,  in  all  that  is  pecul- 
iarly Indianesque,  she  excels  her  master.  In  cun- 
ning, hatred,  and  revenge,  in  the  specialties  of 
cruelty  and  the  refinements  of  torture,  she  has  no 
equal  on  earth  or  in  Hades.  The  saddest  fate  that 
can  befall  the  captive  is  to  be  given  over  to  the 
squaws. 

There  is  really  no  more  beauty  to  be  found 
among  Indian  "maidens"  than  there  is  among 
gorillas.  IN^ever.  were  the  features  that  pertain  to 
the  unmixed  race  modified  for  beauty's  sake.  More 
false  than  even  Cooper's  wonderful  tales,  are  the 
poems  which  descant  upon  the  charms  of  dusky  love 
and  the  romance  of  wilderness  afifection.  Poetic 
license  is  a  wanton  and  wayward  thing,  and  has 
been  made  to  caper  nimbly  to  strange  tunes  ere 
now.  But  the  man  who  invented  those  charming 
but  plienomenally  false  Indian  ideals,  and  first 
crowned  the  universal  squaw  —  squat,  angular,  pig- 
eyed,  ragged,  wretched,  and  insect-haunted  —  with 
the  roses  of  love,  ought  to  see  the  woman  once, 
and,  as  a  punishment,  to  be  subjected  for  a  season 
to  her  indescribable  blandishments. 

It  is  an  experience  probably  not  to  be  objected 
to  for  once,  but  a  repetition  of  which  is  not  desir- 
able, to  watch  for  an  hour  the  operations  in  prog- 
I'ess  among  this  assemblage  of  heroes  and  nymphs. 


COPPER   DISTILLED.  85 


There  is  a  young  squaw,  who  has  become  the  pos- 
sessor of  a  little  flour,  and  therewith  she  is  up  to 
her  elbows  in  the  process  of  making  bread.  She 
has  a  small  fire,  a  battered  iron  pan,  and  sits  by 
a  little  pool  of  muddy  water  in  which  the  young 
ones  have  been  wading,  and  out  of  which  the  dogs 
have  lapped.  She  pours  in  quantum  sufficit  of 
water,  and  stirs  the  pasty  and  streaked  mass  into 
proper  congruity  with  one  unwashed  fore-finger. 
Presently  she  wipes  this  upon  her  encrusted  piece 
of  a  blanket,  and  places  the  mass  in  the  ashes. 
J^ear  by  sits  an  old  woman  preparing  a  freshly- 
killed  carcass  for  that  process  after  which  it  becomes 
jerked  beef.  Her  task  it  is  to  cut  the  whole  of  the 
animal  into  long  thin  strips  for  drying.  But  the 
ancient  operator  is  the  curiosity,  not  the  beef  or 
the  process.  Grey-haired,  wrinkled^  and  haggard, 
her  dried  limbs  scarcely  concealed  by  sodden  rags, 
she  is  the  picture  of  hopeless  and  toiling  wretched- 
ness. You  may  stand  an  hour  by  these  two;  you 
may  talk,  laugh,  pity,  or  question,  and  they  will 
never  betray  by  sign  or  look  the  least  knowledge  of 
your  presence. 

Yet,  if  you  would  see  the  very  pink  of  hauteur 
and  personal  pride,  you  have  but  to  observe  yon 
gaunt  and  greasy  son  of  the  wilderness,  who 
believes  himself  to  be  the  glass  of  fashion  and  the 
mould  of  form.  He  is  as  unconscious  of  his  odors 
as  though  redolent  of  patchouly  and  white  rose. 
He  is  truly  unwashed,  and  nearly  naked  save  in 
the  respect  of  paint,  and,  if  the  impolite  truth  must 
be  told,  swarming  with  that  enterprising  insect  to 


86  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

wliich  the  Scottish  poet  wrote  an  apostrophe.  He 
regards  you  with  folded  arms  and  defiant  face,  and 
desires  to  impress  you  with  the  idea  that  lie  is 
indeed  "heap." 

I  am  not  discussing  the  digger,  celebrated  in 
California  annals  ;  nor  any  of  the  bug-eating  pieces 
of  tribes  that  are  regarded  with  so  much  contempt 
until  they  begin  to  fight,  like  the  Modocs.  These, 
pliilanthropic  reader,  are  those  plains  Apaches  who 
have  made  us  wish  we  were  somewhere  else  with 
the  baggage  so  many  times,  and  who  stand  unex- 
celled in  all  the  qualities  so  unpleasantly  admirable 
in  Indian  character  —  endurance,  cunning,  ferocity, 
and  vindictiveness. 

In  Indian  society,  each  family  is  the  producer  of 
all  the  articles  required  in  daily  life.  Clothing, 
food,  and  weapons  are  all  manufactured  from  the 
raw  material.  Barter  and  exchange  were  intro- 
duce'cl  by  the  white  men,  and  even  yet  there  is  little 
wanted  in  exchange  by  the  Indian  that  he  is  not 
much  better  without.  It  is  true  that  so  many 
ponies  and  robes  were  necessary  always  in  that  very 
particular  negotiation,  the  purchase  of  a  wife.  But 
ea'ch  family  is  self-supporting,  and  comprises  within 
itself  the  whole  theory  of  patriarchal  government. 
Resources  are  few,  and  actual  wants  as  well ;  and  in 
this  or  any  encampment  may  be  seen  in  an  hour  the 
whole  Indian  economy.  There  are  squaws  who 
bring  fuel  and  water,  and  others  who  are  engaged 
in  the  tedious  and  laborious  process  of  stretcliing 
and  scraping  that  finally  results  in  the  white, 
pliable,  and  elaborately-ornamented  "robe,"  which 


COPPER  DISTILLED. 


is  the  representative  of  Indian  comfort,  wealth,  and 
art.  There  is  the  crudely-awful  process  of  savage 
cookerj'  constantly  going  on,  and  the  ponies  to 
watch,  catch,  and  saddle.  There  is  the  endless 
packing  and  unj)acking  of  a  nomadic  life.  There 
are  lodges  to  build  and  to  take  down  again,  and  a 
hideous  master  to  wait  upon  and  please.  The 
squaw  does  it  all.  Early  in  life  she  becomes  old, 
and  adds  innumerable  wrinkles,  that  attain  to  the 
dimensions  of  cracks,  to  a  face  that  was  repulsive 
even  in  babyhood.  She  is  stoop-shouldered,  bow- 
legged,  fiat-hipped,  shambling,  and  when  at  last  she 
dies,  nobody  cares  or  cries,  and  she  is  even  denied 
a  soul  and  a  hereafter.  Through  all  her  tasks  and 
toils,  she  carries,  strapped  to  a  board  and  slung 
upon  her  back,  the  little,  winking,  brown-faced, 
silent  babe,  who  seems  never  to  laugh  and  never  to 
cry  She  loves  it,  too,  with  a  love  that  is  the  one 
human  trait  in  her  character. 

I  once  had  for  some  months  the  indirect  charge  of 
three  Apache  children.  During  that  time,  and  until 
they  ran  away,  they  were  in  malice,  cruelty,  filth,  ill- 
temper,  and  general  hatefulness,  the  nearest  approach 
to  little  fiends  I  have  ever  encountered.  It  was 
necessary  to  watch  them  to  keep  them  from  killing 
each  other.  But  they  never  cried,  and  were  quiet, 
sly,  and  predator}^  as  so  many  weasels  ;  and  while 
there  was  plenty  of  beef  and  bread,  it  was  found 
impossible  to  keep  them  from  eating  out  of  the 
waste  barrel. 

In  the  manufacturing  processes  of  the  Indian, 
nothing  is  wasted.     His   hunting   is   not   pleasure- 


88  FRONTIER  ARMY  SkETCHi:^. 

seeking  slaughter,  as  ours  is,  but  a  means  of  liveli- 
hood. He  is,  or  was,  as  cautious  to  prevent  waste 
of  numbers  among  the  shaggj  herds  of  the  plains 
as  the  white  man  is  of  the  thrift  and  well-being 
of  his  tame  kine ;  and  for  the  same  economical 
reasons.  For  from  the  buffalo,  aided  by  a  little 
wood,  all  his  life's  necessities  may  be  supplied. 

Indian  life  is  full  of  tawdry  pomp  and  barbarous 
ceremonial,  and  in  every  camp,  while  the  women 
steadily  toil,  the  men  are  engaged  in  some  noisy  rite 
necessary  to  the  proper  celebration  of  some  late  feat, 
or  to  jDropitiate  success  in  some  contemplated  ex- 
ploit. He  is  a  tremendous  braggart,  our  red  friend, 
and  he  who  boasts  longest  and  loudest  is  generally 
taken  at  his  word,  as  is  usual  everywhere.  It  is  to 
obtain  opportunity  for  this  advertisement  of  per- 
sonal prowess,  that  a  "dance"  of  some  kind  is 
always  going  on.  Their  names  and  purposes  are 
nearly  innumerable,  and  the  candid  uninitiated  is 
not  able  to  perceive  any  great  difference  in  the 
screams,  leapings,  and  horrible  hootings,  which 
characterize  them  all.  Some  of  these  noisy  cere- 
monials, are  said  to  be  religious,  but  all  there  is  of 
religious  sentiment  is  condensed  into  the  one  word 
"medicine."  Everything  in  life  has  its  place  in 
one  or  the  other  of  two  classes:  it  is  either  "good" 
or  "bad"  medicine.  Camping-places  where  some 
evil  has  befallen  are  ever  after  bad  medicine  ;  and 
all  days  and  places  where  some  defeat,  sickness,  or 
loss  was  suffered,  are  classed  in  the  same  category. 
All  things  that  were  fortunate  are  placed  on  the 
opposite  side.     In  this  book-keeping  and  running 


COPPER   DISTILLED.  89 


account  with  fate,  I  do  not  know  if  there  is  a  column 
for  tilings  indifferent  and  belonging  nowhere,  to 
finally  balance  with.  The  high-priest  of  this  relig- 
ion is  the  celebrated  "  medicine- man."  The  pre- 
cise qualifications  of  this  dread  person  are  somewhat 
indefinite.  I  am  forced  to  confess,  after  knowing 
him  personally,  that  the  only  perceptible  differ- 
ence between  him  and  his  fellows  seems  to  be  that 
he  is,  if  possible,  idler,  raggeder,  and  lazier  than 
they  are.  But,  dance  or  no  dance,  the  buck  usually 
wears  the  scalps  he  has  taken,  dangling  from  the 
greasy  waist-band  of  the  unique  article  in  pantaloons 
known  as  his  breech-clout.  This  sketch  may  seem 
to  tlie  Eastern  reader  somewhat  one-sided,  though  it 
is  not  so.  What  soft  and  twilight  picture  of  She- 
mah-ga,  the  white  dove,  and  We-up-mukh,  the  swift 
one,  could  be  expected  from  one  who  has  so  often 
seen  dangling  from  the  waist  of  some  loud  heathen 
the  long  brown  hair  of  his  countrywomen  ? 

One  would  naturally  infer  that  begging  would 
be  incompatible  with,  the  Indian  character.  By  no 
means;  he  is  the  most  persistent  and  importunate 
beggar  on  this  continent.  Governmental  manage- 
ment of  him  seems  to  have  produced  the  impression 
upon  his  mind  that  there  are  constantly  large  arrears 
due  him  which  he  ought  to  have,  and  that  every 
white  man  owes  him  something.  Failing  in  his 
demands,  he  immediately  proposes  to  "swap."  He 
is  apparently  surprised  at  the  white  man's  inability 
to  always  see  the  advantages  accruing  from  these 
business  operations,  since  one  of  the  articles  fre- 
quently offered  in  exchange  is  his  squaw.     One  of 


90  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

the  strongest  evidences  of  idiocy  to  him  is  the  fact 
that  lie  can  get  more  for  a  robe,  a  pony,  or  even  for 
a  paltry  bow-and-arrows,  than  he  could  for  a  whole 
family  of  squaws. 

The  language  of  all  Indians  is  peculiar.  The  com- 
paratively few  words  used  are  coarse  and  guttural, 
and  so  useful  a  part  of  it  is  action  and  gesture  that 
any  man  may  talk  Indian  —  not  speak  it  —  who  is  at 
all  skilful  in  the  use  of  pantomime.  The  mellifluous 
names  of  mountains,  lakes,  and  rivers  must  not  be 
taken  as  examples,  as  they  were  probably  never  pro- 
nounced by  the  aboriginals  as  we  spell  them.  In  lieu 
of  a  complete  vocabulary  they  use  many  signs,  even 
in  conversation  among  themselves.  A  class  of  deaf 
mutes  are  scarcely  more  skilful  than  they  in  com- 
municating ideas  without  words.  I  have  seen  long 
conversations  carried  on  between  very  communi- 
cative specimens  of  copper-color  and  officers  of  the 
army,  only  prefaced  by  the  word  ''how"  and  a  most 
demonstrative  and  cordial  shaking  of  hands.  A  cir- 
cular movement  of  the  hand  over  the  head  aptly 
indicates  a  day,  a  jog-trot  movement  describes  a 
horse,  and  the  two  together  express  that  prominent 
idea  of  a  wide  and  desolate  region,  a  day's  journey. 
A  yet  different  movement  of  the  hand  indicates  a 
buffalo  —  showing,  in  a  way  not  to  be  mistaken,  the 
peculiar  gait  of  that  animal.  Kumbers  are  indicated 
by  rapidly  throwing  up  the  hands,  displaying  as 
many  fingers  as  answer  to  the  number  to  be  indi- 
cated. Of  course  there  are  words  enough  to  defi- 
nitely specify  all  things  common  to  Indian  life,  and  in 
a  great  many  dialects.     I  have  the  idea,  without  any 


COPPER  DISTILLED.  dl 


pretensions  to  aboriginal  scliolarsliip,  tliat  these  sav- 
age tongues  comprise  but  little  beyond  tlie  ordinary 
forms  of  speech  not  capable  of  being  written. 

There  are  many  ideas  of  Indian  skill  and  cunning 
that,  while  tliey  are  correct  to  some  extent,  are  over- 
drawn and  extravagant.  The  curious  fact  is  that  the 
trapper  and  miner  and  the  hunter  of  the  border,  the 
voyagem\  and,  indeed,  most  of  those  whose  strange 
tastes  have  led  them  to  follow  and  find  pleasure  in  a 
frontier  life,  are  capable  of  outwitting  liim  in  almost 
every  instance.  They  understand  what  lie  is  sure  to 
do  in  a  given  case,  and  so  either  do  it  themselves  or 
take  measures  to  render  his  manoeuvre  harmless. 
The  trade  they  have  learned  from  him  they  excel 
him  in.  By  nature  the  Indian  is  possessed  of  a 
genius  for  stealth,  like  the  cats,  gaining  his  liveli- 
hood by  still-hunting.  He  has  an  instinct  of  cunning 
that  has  sometimes  been  dignified  by  the  name  of 
strategy,  but  in  his  operations  against  an  enemy  he 
exercises  but  little  strategy  that  is  nobler  than  lying. 
He  can  cover  his  head  with  brown  eartli  and  lie 
among  tlie  coarse  grass  at  the  roadside,  and,  liaving 
thus  concealed  his  sinister  visage,  speed  an  arrow 
after  the  traveller.  He  can  occupy  thirty-six  hours 
in  crawling  a  few  rods  to  steal  a  mule  he  must  have 
wanted  very  much,  as  I  have  known  him  to  do,  and 
finally  succeed  in  his  purpose.  He  will  smoke  the 
pipe  which  is  the  universally  recognized  sign  of 
amity  and  peace,  with  many  signs  of  good-will  and 
much  pacific  grunting,  and  the  same  day  lance  you 
in  the  back,  if  there  be  fitting  opportunity.  He  will 
be  at  great  pains  to  make  a  false  trail,  and  will  imi- 


92  FRONTlFAl  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

ttite  the  sounds  of  nature,  and  by  a  thousand  devices 
attempt  to  mislead.  But  he  has  not  a  fraud  in  liis 
repertory  in  which  the  white  man  has  not  long  since 
learned  to  outwit  him. 

The  few  white  men  who  have  abandoned  civiliza- 
tion and  race  for  Indian  society,  aiding  their  adopted 
friends  by  a  superior  knowledge  of  civilized  modes, 
are  leaders,  not  followers.  It  is  quite  superfluous  to 
add  tliat  they  are  the  worse  of  the  two,  and  have  just 
humanity  enough  left  to  cause  them  to  desire  rather 
to  reign  in  hell  than  serve  in  heaven. 

The  art  of  reading  the  face  of  nature,  so  common 
in  frontier  life,  is  one  so  strange  that  we  are  apt  to 
regard  it  as  an  instinct.  To  the  Indian  the  track  of 
the  antelope  is  as  plain  as  the  path  of  a  tornado. 
He  tells  the  number  and  kind  of  his  enemies,  and 
the  hours  since  they  passed,  ^^le  invented  a  system 
of  signals  before  the  days  of  Morse,  and  the  smoke 
upon  the  distant  hill,  or  the  brief  fire  upon  the 
mountain-side,  convey  to  him  tales  he  never  misun- 
derstands. He  traverses  the  vast  surface  of  the 
monotonous  wilderness,  and,  with  an  instinct  as 
unerring  as  that  of  the  bison,  reaches  his  destina- 
tion. He  hovers  for  days  upon  the  path  of  his 
enemy,  always  near  and  always  watching,  yet  never 
seen  or  heard  save  by  those  who  have  learned  his 
art.  All  these  things  the  white  man  has  stolen 
from  him.  There  are  many  men  on  the  border  who 
earn  a  livelihood  by  outwitting  the  Indian  at  his 
own  game. 

It  is  a  misapprehension  to  regard  the  weapons  of 
the  Indian   as  inefficient,  and  to  wonder  how  he 


COPPER   DISTILLED.  93 

managed  to  live  aud  perpetually  fight  before  he 
became  acquainted  with  fire-arms.  These  he  uses, 
and  very  efiiciently,  in  warfare  ;  but  he  has  never 
discarded  his  own.  The  ancient  bow-and-arrow, 
probably  the  first  efiicient  weapon  made  by  men, 
and  used  in  all  climes  and  races,  is  yet,  in  the  hands 
of  a  Comanche,  one  of  the  most  effective  of  weapons. 
A  great  American  philosopher  was  ridiculed  for 
recommending  that  the  colonial  troops  should  be 
furnished  with  this  arm — for  this  among  other 
things  ;  and  yet  the  great  genius  of  common  sense 
was  right,  for  it  is  infinitely  more  effective  than  that 
flint-cocked  blunderbuss,  the  Queen  Anne  musket. 
Our  Indian  uses  it  in  its  simplest  and  rudest  form  — 
merely  a  piece  of  elastic  wood,  with  a  string  made  of 
sinew.  The  arrow  is  often  an  elaborate  specimen  of 
savage  handicraft,  being  about  twenty-eight  inches 
in  length,  and  elaborately  feathered  and  ornamented. 
The  ornamentation  is  peculiar  to  the  tribe  that  made 
it,  and  the  head  is  of  iron,  sometimes  of  flint,  and  is 
fastened  in  a  cleft  of  the  stick  in  a  very  neat  and 
effective  wa}^  by  a  wrapping  of  fine  sinew.  This 
slight  and  fragile  sliaft  will  transfix  the  huge  body 
of  the  buffalo,  coming  out  on  the  opposite  side,  and 
penetrates  where  the  huge  modern  bullet  is  flattened 
or  turned  aside.  It  is  almost  noiseless,'-^  and  at 
thirty  yards  seldom  misses  its  mark.  Once  wounded, 
there  is  small  chance  of  recovery,  for  the  dried  sinew 
relaxes  in  moisture,  and  the  wood  comes  away  and 
leaves  an  inextricable  triangle  of  iron  behind. 

*  He  who  has  heard  the  swish  of  an  Apache  arrow  is  no  more  likely  to 
forget  it  than  he  is  the  shriek  of  a  shell, 


94  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES 

Indian  fighting  is  not  tlie  placid  and  time-killing 
amusement  it  is  sometimes  imagined  to  be.  Unless 
taken  in  mid-winter  and  bj  surprise,  we  have  been 
passably  well  castigated  at  least  half  the  time  in  all 
our  little,  cruel,  revengeful  and  doubly  costly  wars 
with  them.  And  taking  him  by  surprise  is  very 
much  like  catching  a  weasel  asleep.  The  plains 
Indian  is  a  master  of  horsemanship,  and  his  brother 
of  the  mountains  knows  every  tepid  water-hole  and 
every  pass,  and  climbs  like  a  goat.  He  of  the  prai- 
ries has  a  trick  of  being  always  upon  that  side  of  the 
horse  that  is  opposite  his  enemy,  and  almost  entirely 
concealed.  Rapidly  riding- in  a  circle,  he  discharges 
his  arrows  under  his  horse's  neck  or  over  his  back. 
He  is  here  and  there  like  a  flash,  and  his  great 
endeavor  is  to  invest  his  enemy  on  every  side,  and 
ofler  him  every  possible  inducement  to  exhaust  his 
ammunition.  I  have  no  advice  to  offer  that  gallant 
handful  of  skilful  men  known  as  the  army  of  the 
United  States.  They  are  acquainted  fully  with  all 
there  is  of  the  Indian,  and  have  reason  to  be.  The 
modern  soldier,  trained  in  the  mysteries  of  the  skir- 
mish drill,  lies  quietly  in  his  place  and  speeds  after 
his  foe  the  messenger  that  weighs  four  hundred 
grains,  and  that,  singing  as  it  flies,  tumbles  many  a 
savage  rider  six  hundred  yards  away.  To  fire  delib- 
erately, to  waste  no  bullets,  and  to  have  a  sufiiciency 
of  cartridges  and  of  water,  means  generally  drawn 
battle,  or,  rarely,  absolute  victory.  How  ver}^  easy 
it  is  to  write  recipes  ! 

This  is  plains  fighting.  There  is  a  slightly  vary- 
ing system  among  the  mountains  of  i^ew  JMexico, 


COPPER   DISTILLED.  96 

There,  all  is  concealment.  The  Indian  of  that 
region  never  meets  the  soldier,  and  the  latter  very 
rarely  gets  v^ithin  hailing  distance  of  the  Indian. 
There  is  no  noise,  and  from  behind  the  rocks  in 
the  canon,  or  concealed  by  the  sage  and  cacti,  the 
arrow  is  sped  that  cuts  short  many  an  unsuspecting 
life.  Indian  dead  are  seldom  left  on  the  field.  A 
prudence  that  is  natural  enough  makes  it  desirable 
that  losses  should  not  be  counted,  and  scalps  should 
not  be  taken  to  be  danced  and  exulted  over. 

The  name  of  the  Great  Spirit  figures  largely  in 
all  reports  of  Indian  eloquence,  just  as  the  name  of 
the  Deity  does  in  the  fervid  eloquence  of  the  com- 
mon politician.  It  seems  probable  that  the  great 
Idea  is  as  much  a  myth  to  the  one  as  to  the  other. 
The  theology  of  the  Indian  is  simply  a  superstitious 
fear  of  something  he  does  not  understand.  What 
kind  of  a  heaven  or  hell  he  has  imagined  for  himself, 
no  man  can  precisely  tell.  There  are  no  strictly 
religious  forms,  and  certainly  no  idea  of  worship 
as  we  understand  the  term,  and  nothing  that  is 
regarded  as  especially  sacred.  The  religious  idea  is 
not  prominent,  and  seems  almost  entirely  included 
in  the  "medicine"  business  before  referred  to.  Of 
that  which  we  call  superstition,  there  is  plenty  ; 
and,  as  with  ourselves,  luck  is  extensively  pro- 
pitiated. 

Of  course,  in  speaking  of  the  Indian,  the  com- 
mon class  is  the  just  criterion.  Yet,  as  is  well 
known,  the  red  race,  and  every  other,  is  not  want- 
ing in  examples  of  force,  dignity,  and  comparative 
greatness.     King  Philip,   Tocumseh,   Ked  Jacket, 


96  FRONTIEli  ARMY  SKETCHES, 

Billy  Bowlegs,  are  historic  characters.  Sa-tan-te, 
Kieking-Bird,  Sitting  Bull,  and  a  grotesque  category 
of  their  like,  have  been  very  extensively  mentioned 
in  later  times.  In  some  of  them,  the  common  farce 
of  Indian  dignity  has  been  condensed  into  some- 
thing like  the  genuine  article.  The  Indian  has 
never  been  humble,  and  is  unlikely  to  be  much 
abashed  in  the  presence  of  dignitaries,  unless  some 
one  of  them  has  become  known  to  him  to  his  great 
cost ;  his  firm  conviction  being  that  the  meanest  of 
his  race  stands  at  the  head  of  all  created  intelli- 
gences. His  is  a  race  egoism,  like  that  of  the 
Chinese.  When  he  goes  to  Washington,  and 
attracts  attention,  and  is  interviewed  and  stared  at, 
he  believes  it  is  because  he  is  great  and  envied. 
In  his  mental  constitution  there  is  prominently 
wanting  the  faculty  of  appreciation.  He  knows 
that  the  wires  that  are  stretched  across  the  great 
country  that  once  was  his,  "whisper"  mysterious 
messages  in  the  ear  of  the  white  man,  and  that 
insensate  paper  "talks."  But  the  knowledge  pro- 
duces in  his  mind  no  respect  for  the  people  to 
whom  the  strange  communings  come.  He  does 
them  the  honor  to  accept  them  as  facts,  without 
further  care  or  inquiry  about  them  ;  and  the  idea 
that  they  are  any  evidence  of  knowledge  superior 
to  his  never  enters  his  mind. 

With  the  old  story  of  barbarity,  cruelty,  and 
rapine,  the  world  is  long  since  familiar.  Nor  is 
the  conclusion  just,  that  is  so  often  prompted  by 
philanthropy  and  by  pity  ibr  the  poor  Indian,  that 
the    terrible    story   has  been  exaggerated.     Indian 


COPPER   DISTILLED.  97 

atrocities  that  have  come  directly  under  the  notice 
of  hundreds  of  law-abiding,  charitable,  and  truthful 
men,  would,  truthfully  delineated,  be  unfit  for  the 
ears  of  any  but  those  whose  business  it  might  be 
to  investigate  them.  It  would  be  almost  impossi- 
ble for  any  man  personally  cognizant  of  the  doings 
in  portions  of  the  Southwest  for  the  last  few  years, 
to  look  his  neighbor  in  the  face  and  calmly  tell 
what  he  has  seen.  The  burnings,  the  ravishings, 
the  impalements  upon  charred  stakes,  the  cutting 
off  of  eyelids,  the  chewing  of  finger-joints,  the 
knocking  out  of  teeth  and  drawing  of  nails,  and 
nameless  mutilations  of  the  dead; — are  these  things 
told  in  daily  newspapers  ?  They  have  occurred  in 
hundreds  of  instances  that  the  reader  has  never 
heard  of,  and,  I  trust,  will  never  hear  of.  But  the 
frontiersman  has  not  only  heard  —  he  has  seen; 
and  hardy  and  accustomed  as  he  may  be,  his 
dreams  are  made  hideous  by  the  remembrance  of 
indescribable  scenes. 

The  man  who  is  there,  and  who  cannot  go  away, 
understands  that  last  and  chiefest  trait  of  the  Indian 
character  which  is  either  unknown  or  disregarded 
by  all  the  divines  and  all  the  philanthropists :  the 
inborn  love  of  killing.  There  are  animals  whose 
strongest  instinct  is  a  thirst  for  slaughter  that  can- 
not be  permanently  assuaged.  We  know  this,  and 
accept  the  fact,  but  many  of  us  do  not  understand 
and  will  not  believe  that  there  are  men  of  the  same 
kind,  and  whole  tribes  of  them  ;  that  the  Indian, 
in  his  natural  condition,  and  before  he  has  been 
fenced  about  by  those  surroundings  of  civilization 
7 


98  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

which  lie  cannot  break,  has  this  as  his  strongest  trait, 
and  that  he  has  never,  under  any  circumstances, 
entirely  changed  his  character.  This  is  why  each 
tribe  is,  compared  with  the  territory  it  occupies,  a 
mere  handful  in  the  desert.  A  great  incentive  to 
war  is  the  pleasure  of  torturing  the  captives.  The 
whole  history  of  the  Indian  is  a  history  of  blood. 
We  have  only  glimpses  of  it,  gory  and  incarna- 
dine, lurid  with  devastating  flame  and  ghastly  with 
agony.  Tribes  and  races  have  been  utterly  exter- 
minated by  other  tribes,  leaving  only  rude  tumuli 
and  broken  pottery  to  tell  of  them  and  all  their 
works.  They  are  in  unknown  regions  fighting  now. 
They  live  and  fight  and  die  alone,  their  great  vic- 
tories celebrated  by  a  midnight  orgy,  with  shouts 
and  groans  alike  dying  among  echoes  that  never 
speak  again.  It  is  contrary  to  Indian  nature  to 
desire  to  be  at  peace  when  war  is  possible.  The 
tribal  glory  that  he  loves  comes  from  war,  and  it 
is  his  only  passion.  If  offended,  even  causelessly, 
he  does  not  seek  redress  save  sometimes  as  an 
excuse,  and  does  not  ask  to  have  his  wrongs  righted 
with  any  desire  that  they  should  be.  He  begins 
to  kill  —  and  complains  afterward.  His  massacres 
are  sudden  and  unexpected  in  the  midst  of  appar- 
ent harmony.  The  hunger  for  murder  and  torture 
is  sated  for  a  time,  and  all  the  tedious  explana- 
tions and  theories  come  afterward. 

And  yet  this  chapter  is  but  the  ultra-Missouri 
view  of  the  case  —  conclusions  gathered  from  actual 
contact.  By  a  strange  inversion  of  logic  and  the 
meaning  of  words,  I  have  heard  such  views  of  the 


COPPER   DISTILLED.  99 

Indian  called  prejudices  ;  which  must  mean,  if  any- 
thing, that  they  are  conclusions  formed  without 
knowledge  —  pre-judgments.  Yet  it  is  quite  appa- 
rent that  a  good  deal  that  is  said  on  the  other  side, 
and  in  support  of  the  directly  opposite  view,  is  said 
by  those  who  have  many  of  them  never  seen  an 
Indian  in  his  native  and  unconverted  state.  They 
have  attained  to  a  high  plane  of  right,  justice,  and 
truth.  They  measure  the  Indian  question  by  gen- 
eral rules,  that,  though  enlightened  and  just  beyond 
dispute,  yet  do  not  suit  the  hard  facts  of  the  case. 
They  have  had  no  adequate  experience  with  the 
noble  red  man,  who,  if  they  could  see  him  and 
know  him  well,  would  be  found  to  possess  a  vast 
capacity  for  astonishing  his  best  friends,  by  a  yawn- 
ing gulf  of  want  in  every  noble  trait.  I  believe  I 
understand  something  of  the  philanthropists,  and, 
instead  of  reviling  them,  I  honor  their  views  upon  a 
subject  of  which  they  seem  to  stand  upon  one  verge 
and  I  and  my  fellows  upon  the  other.  There  is 
another  side  to  the  story,  and  these  I  conceive  to  be 
some  of  the  items  of  it: 

The  Indian  is  a  ward  of  the  government,  and  yet, 
in  his  tribal  capacity,  a  sovereign  power  capable  of 
making  treaties  and  ceding  his  vast  and  unused  pos- 
sessions. 

He  is  a  man  independent  in  his  own  nationality, 
governed  by  his  own  laws,  and  neither  knowing  nor 
bound  to  know  anything  of  ours,  and  who  must  yet 
be  held  amenable  to  trial  and  punishment  in  our 
courts,  under  laws  of  which  he  knows  no  more  than 
he  does  of  logarithms  and  the  Greek  particle. 


100  FRONTIER  AR3IY  SKETCHES. 

He  is  the  victim  of  a  complicated  system  of  com- 
pensations for  liis  various  surrenders,  wliicli  he  does 
not  understand,  and  which  seem  to  have  been  spe- 
cially framed  for  the  benefit  of  unscrupulous  com- 
merce and  the  fostering  of  trading  schemes,  and  the 
formation  of  rings  stronger  than  the  government 
itself. 

With  phenomenal  short-sightedness  and  unwis- 
dom, he  has  been  located  upon  new  reservations 
where  in  the  course  of  a  few  years  he  w^ould  be  pre- 
cisely in  the  way  again;  and  what  is  more,  he  has 
an  absolute  right  to  stay  there  which  no  reasonable 
man  can  deny  him. 

He  is  the  ancient  and  time-worn  subject  of  polit- 
ical experiments,  that  are  adopted  and  then  lost 
sight  of  at  once.  Notable  among  these  is  that  which 
seems  to  be  based  upon  the  idea  that  the  piety  of 
an  agent  would  inoculate  a  tribe  and  chemically 
change  an  atmosphere  in  which  everybody  was  sup- 
posed to  be  bent  upon  doing  everything  that  was 
wrong  and  avoiding  everj^thing  that  was  right,  and 
to  be  spoiling  for  a  fight  always. 

He  has  been  fed,  coaxed,  and  fought  at  the  same 
time.  He  has  consequently  become  a  vicious  boy, 
bad  enough  by  nature  and  spoiled  by  management 
that  would  demoralize  an  angel.  He  has  drawn 
rations  in  Arizona,  in  the  midst  of  hostilities  vigor- 
ously^ conducted  by  him  in  New  Mexico  ;  and  has 
consequently  been  occupied  during  his  intervals  of 
rest  and  refreshment  in  laughing  at  his  enemies, 
and  reviling  those  two  antipodal  ofiacials,  the  Secre- 
tary of  War  and  the  Secretary  of  the  Interior. 


COPPER  DISTILLED.  101 


It  has  been  seemingly  forgotten  that  he  is  rather 
a  quarrelsome  person,  to  whom  revenge  is  religion. 
Consequently  tliose  in  whose  hands  it  entirely  rested 
to  bring  him  to  terms,  and  rectify  his  somewhat 
savage  notions  of  right  and  wrong,  have  been  left 
without  any  jurisdiction  over  or  control  of  the 
causes  of  his  numerous  complaints  ;  and  this,  while 
his  revenges  are  always  directed  against  his  readiest 
victims,  the  defenceless.  A  woman's  long  scalp-lock 
is  as  valuable  and  honorable  to  him  as  a  warrior's. 
He  has  never  been  made  to  understand  that  the 
dispensers  of  his  rations  are  able  also  to  light  him, 
and  willing.  If  he  were  given  to  know  that  the 
ability  to  feed  was  combined  with  the  power  to  con- 
trol, he  would,  were  he  but  an  animal  —  which  he  is 
not  — be  careful  of  his  behavior. 

In  addition  to  this,  it  is  time  that  it  should  be 
understood  that  there  is  no  human  power  tliat  can 
stop  the  migration  from  east  to  west.  That  situa- 
tion must  be  accepted  not  only  because  it  must^  but 
because  civilization  is  of  more  consequence  than 
barbarism,  and  homes  of  greater  importance  than 
the  preservation  of  vast  hunting-grounds  —  a  million 
acres  to  each  hunter.  After  years  of  vacillation  and 
costly  experiment,  it  is  time  that  some  rational 
attempt  were  made  to  meet  and  improve  a  situation 
that  is  unavoidable.  There  is  one  man  who  can  do 
it,  understanding,  as  he  does,  more  of  the  frontier, 
more  of  the  immigrant  and  of  the  Indian,  than 
statesmen  and  secretaries  have  either  leisure  or 
opportunity  for.  It  is  Captain  Jinks,  the  careless, 
and  jaunty  one,  whose  qualities  and  capacities  not 


102  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

one  in  a  thousand  understands.  He  is  the  hardiest 
frontiersman  of  his  times,  and  over  countless  leagues 
of  drear  J  marching,  and  beside  innumerable  camp- 
fires,  he  has  done  what  it  would  seem  no  other  man 
who  had  aught  to  do  with  the  Indian  business  has 
done  :  he  has  kept  his  honor  and  his  uniform  clean. 
He  is  court-martialed  and  dismissed  sometimes,  for 
petty  offences  not  criminal  save  to  "an  officer  and  a 
gentleman,''  or  for  a  human  disobedience  of  petty 
orders.  But  have  you  lately  heard  of  him  as  specu- 
lating in  Indian  supplies,  or  as  a  member  of  any 
"ring?"  He  is  not  good,  and  could  seldom  be 
accurately  described  by  the  somewhat  worn  phrase, 
"a  Christian  gentleman."  He  takes  cocktails,  and 
plays  at  cards  sometimes,  and  is  guilty  of  many  a 
peccadillo.  But  his  environment  is  peculiar.  Nine 
times  in  ten  he  believes  that  death  is  better  than 
dishonor.  He  does  not  want  the  Indian  manage- 
ment, because  he  says  he  believes  it  to  be  demoral- 
izing. It  is  no  more  than  one  of  Jinks's  peculiar 
reasons.  It  is  his  business  to  obey  orders;  and  when 
he  must  he  will  take  it.  Then,  by  degrees,  the 
"young  men,"  whom  the  chief  is  always  saying  he 
cannot  control,  will  find  themselves  restrained  by 
the  relentless  doors  of  the  post  guard-house,  in 
company  with  the  man  who  has  been  selling  them 
whiskey,  until  reflection  shall  have  cooled  their 
ardor.  The  preparations  for  a  raid  or  an  escapade 
will  be  observed,  and  the  parties  thereto  required  to 
give  bail.  Every  ration  and  every  dollar  will  go  to 
those  entitled  to  them,  and  to  no  others.  He  does 
not   take  sides  ;    he  does  not  argue  the   case ;    he 


COPPER  DISTILLED.  103 

obeys  orders,  and  is  interested  in  having  others  do 
]3reciselj  the  same  thing.  A  few  dozen  of  him  will 
keep  a  thousand  citizens  ont  of  the  Indian  Territory, 
where  they  say  they  are  determined  to  go,  and  yet 
have  no  especial  love  for  either  Creeks,  Choctaws, 
or  Seminoles,  whose  rights  he  is  protecting.  He  is 
in  a  fight  every  summer  —  a  fight  that  is  never  of 
his  own  making  ;  and  we  do  not  object  theii  to  his 
methods  of  persuasion,  or  to  the  fact  that  he  repre- 
sents the  power  of  tlie  sword,  and  not  that  of  the 
hymn-book  and  the  gospel  of  peace. 

It  is  time  that  we  should  cease  to  indulge  in  theo- 
ries and  hopes.  It  is  getting  to  be  a  very  old  ques- 
tion to  be  still  unsolved  ;  and  undoubtedly  we  have 
made  a  failure  thus  far  in  our  management  of  it  —  a 
failure  that  is  as  ridiculous  as  anything  we  have  ever 
done  as  a  nation,  and  that  has  resulted  in  infinite 
wrong.  Our  Indian  is  bad,  and  we  insist  that  he  is 
good.  Our  management  is  equally  bad,  and  we 
practically  insist  that  that  is  also  good.  The  man- 
agement of  her  colonies  by  England  has  always  been 
a  reproach  to  her.  She  did  not  persuade  when  they 
were  determined  not  to  be  persuaded.  But  she  has 
managed  them,  and  also  her  Indians.  There  is  no 
iTiore  ineffective  treatment  for  savages  than  the  reci- 
pes of  philanthropy.  These  are  not  the  days  of  cru- 
elty, conquest,  and  extermination,  with  which  Chris- 
tian philanthropy  has  contended  so  long.  There 
seems  to  be  no  cause  for  the  application  of  the  rule 
of  submissive  quiet  and  gentle  persuasiveness  under 
all  circumstances.  If  we  wish  to  prevent  sudden 
raids,   reprisals,    massacres,   the  burning  of  homes 


104  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

and  tlie  violation  of  women,  and  wide-spread  horror 
and  dismay,  we  must  find  a  way  not  only  to  be  just, 
but  also  to  be  strong.  If  we  feed  and  clothe,  we 
must  also  govern  and  prevent. 


Yl. 
JOE'S  POCKET. 

''^r^RUKK  ag'in!  I  swar,  Joe  Biggs,  you  air  the 
-L^  ornery  est  human  as  lives.  Don't  say  nuthin' 
to  me,  fur  I  can't  stand  it.  Thar's  the  bed  !  "  And 
the  maligned  Joe  Biggs  blindly  flung  himself  upon 
the  creaking  cords  of  a  not  very  luxurious  couch, 
aided  thereto  by  a  movement  on  the  part  of  the 
speaker  that  was  too  vigorous  to  be  regarded,  even 
by  a  person  in  Mr.  Joseph  Biggs' s  condition,  as  a 
caress. 

The  people  outside  laughed  a  little  at  their  com- 
rade's reception,  though  in  all  likelihood  expecting 
something  of  the  kind  as  they  escorted  him  home 
from  the  sutler's  store,  and  began  an  irregular 
retreat  as  the  tumbled  flaxen  head  of  the  woman 
appeared  at  the  door.  Moonlight  is  kind  to  any- 
thing at  all  resembling  beauty;  but  homeliness,  as 
embodied  in  a  chalky  face,  untidy  hair,  a  scowl 
which  bodes  no  kindness,  and  over  all  a  shabby 
night-dress,  has  no  friend  in  the  beams  that  seem  to 
cover  all  homeliness  save  such  as  this.  The  woman 
turned  away  again,  and  retired  into  the  darkness  of 
the  cabin ;  the  retreating  footsteps  of  the  roisterers 
died  away  in  the  distance,  and  soon,  under  the  placid 
beams,  it  was  as  though  there  were  no  drunken  men 
or  cross  women  in  all  the  mountain  world. 

105 


106  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

It  was  a  cabin  beside  a  rock-littered  path.  The 
pine  logs  of  which  it  was  constructed  had  been 
cut  from  the  stumps  that  dotted  the  hill-side  hard 
by,  and,  so  far  as  rude  skill  could  make  it  so,  the 
place  was  comfortable  enough.  It  was  tlie  ancient 
model  of  the  frontier  cabin,  strangely  placed  in  a 
country  of  adobes  and  earthen  roofs.  There  was  one 
door,  one  window,  a  chimney  of  mud  and  stones,  and 
a  small  yard,  enclosed  by  a  homely  and  crooked 
apology  for  a  fence.  It  was  such  a  house  as  one 
might  easily  find  at  this  day  in  the  Green  River 
region  of  Kentucky  or  in  southern  Indiana,  and 
looked  as  though  it  might  have  been  taken  up  bodily 
and  brought  thither  as  an  architectural  curiosity. 
The  surroundings  were  pines,  verdure,  and  general 
mountain  coolness,  in  strong  contrast  with  the  tire- 
some adobe  villages  and  low  fields  which  lay  in  the 
valley  below.  J^or  was  the  cabin  entirely  alone.  A 
quarter  of  a  mile  away  was  the  quadrangle  of  green 
grass,  in  the  centre  of  which  arose  a  slender  flag- 
staff, surrounded  by  houses  but  little  better  than 
Joe's,  but  in  which  dwelt  men  and  women  so  differ- 
ent that  he  saw  them  only  from  afar,  and  never 
heard  their  names.  There  were  glimpses  of  white 
canvas,  horses  neighed  in  long  sheds,  and,  as  if  to 
guard  the  bare  standard  of  authority,  a  sentinel 
paced  back  and  forth  before  the  flag-staff,  and  two 
brass  guns  stood  open-mouthed  and  glittering  on 
either  side.  In  a  word,  it  was  that  universal  condi- 
tion of  settlement  and  safety  throughout  the  land  — 
a  military  post.  A  spot  than  which  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  find  one  more  green  and  brilliant,  was 


JOE'S  POCKET.  107 


enlivened  all  the  year  by  the  parade  of  arms,  and  the 
incense  of  military  devotion  arose  each  morning  and 
evening  in  the  sullen  growl  and  lingering  blue 
smoke  of  a  gun  at  whose  echoes  the  deer  started  and 
listened  and  the  rabbit  bounded  away  to  his  cover  in 
the  copse. 

But  if  you  followed  the  road  that  struggled  indis- 
tinctly past  Joe's  cabin,  you  would  soon  find  yourself 
among  balsamic  odors  in  glades  and  dells,  rocks 
which  had  been  rolled  from  their  original  beds  and 
tumbled  down  the  hill,  and  hill-sides  whose  brown 
earth  showed  signs  of  curious  work.  It  was  a  land 
of  wild  scenes  and  wilder  men,  protected  only  by 
force  from  the  Apache,  and  where  the  dwellers,  even 
in  their  worst  estate,  could  dream  of  nothing  better. 
But  it  was  also  the  land  of  gold.  Where  the  stream 
ran  through  the  valley,  a  mile  away,  the  little  mule 
drew,  in  an  endless  path,  the  shaft  of  the  primitive 
arrastra;  the  Mexican  patiently  rocked  his  cradle 
with  dirt  carried  thither  upon  a  donkey's  back  ;  and 
over  all  the  scene  brooded  the  restless  spirit  of 
American  enterprise,  keeping  ill-assorted  company 
with  ancient  peace,  wandering,  prospecting,  specu- 
lating, and  gambling, — rough,  vindictive,  generous, 
and  ever  athirst  for  wild  adventure  and  possible 
wealth. 

Joe  Biggs  was  that  sort  of  person  who  needs  no 
particular  description  to  those  acquainted  with  his 
species  in  a  mining  country.  He  was,  or  had  once 
been,  a  Tennessean,  though  so  long  absent  from  his 
native  country  as  almost  to  have  forgotten  the  fact. 
Though  still  a  robust  and  middle-aged  man,  he  had 


108  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

been  for  many  years  a  mountaineer,  and  a  constant 
victim  of  all  the  vicissitudes  which  liere,  as  else- 
where, befall  a  man  whose  principal  characteristic  is 
recklessness.  It  would  seem  to  be  an  unfavorable 
soil  for  the  growth  of  domestic  infelicities,  and  that 
any  kind  of  prudence  ought  to  enable  a  man  to  leave' 
them  out  of  his  category  of  sorrows.  But  Joe  had 
not  that  prudence,  and  in  the  appearance  and  temper 
of  his  last  wife  he  was  the  most  unfortunate  man  in 
these  diggings.  He  was  the  kind  of  man  that  is 
always  married  —  married  without  regard  to  place, 
circumstances,  or  compatibility.  There  are  many 
men  like  Joe.  The  world  could  easily  be  deluged 
with  narratives  of  domestic  sorrow;  only  the  afflicted 
parties  seem  to  agree  at  least  upon  the  point  of  suc- 
cessful concealment. 

Years  before,  when  the  mountaineer's  tall  figure 
was  very  straight  and  his  tawny  beard  knew  no 
thread  of  gray,  in  his  saunterings  in  and  about  the 
village  he  one  day  came  upon  a  maid  of  the  nut- 
brown  variety,  whose  eyes  were  very  black  and 
whose  brown  shoulders  were  very  shapely  ;  and  as 
she  milked  goats  in  the  little  corral,  he  leaned  upon 
the  adobe  wall  and  tried  to  twist  his  Teunessean 
dialect  into  something  like  Spanish.  It  is  useless 
to  tell  the  rest.  The  dead-and-gone  beauty  who 
was  his  wife  for  a  few  years  had  long  been  among 
the  memories  and  regrets  that  men  everywhere" 
carry  about  with  them.  We  cannot  tell  what 
thoughts  were  at  work  in  Joe's  heart,  as  he  delved 
in  the  mountain  side,  while  the  daughter  she  had 
left   him  sat  near  and  watched  the   work,   or  how 


JOE'S  POCKET.  100 


sweet  the  water  tasted  that  the  little  one  brought 
him  from  the  spring,  or  what  weighty  and  import- 
ant aiFairs  were  discussed  as  her  lively  chatter  went 
continuously  on  through  all  the  work,  and  Joe's 
kindly  bass  came  in  between.  Fathers  and  daugh- 
ters are  an  exclusive  company;  all  the  world  knows 
their  proverbial  intimacy,  and  how  in  this  perfect 
equality  of  June  and  December,  June  is  generally 
conceded  to  be,  if  not  the  bigger,  at  least  the  wiser 
of  the  two. 

But  Joe's  last  matrimonial  venture  was  of  a  dif- 
ferent kind.  He  sadly  knew  it  was  so,  and  made  no 
especial  concealment  of  the  fact  among  his  numer- 
ous and  very  festive  acquaintances.  She  was  an 
attenuated  and  awkward  Texan  belle  when  he  first 
saw  her  —  one  of  the  kind  that  is  constantly  wan- 
dering westward,  and  is  ever  ready  to  be  married 
upon  a  day's  acquaintance,  and  to  almost  anyone. 
A  man  is  a  man;  and  their  tastes  have  not  been 
liighly  educated  by  their  surroundings.  Joe  must 
have  been  demented.  He  often  thought  of  the  cir- 
cumstance as  one  that  might  have  that  extenuating 
possibility  as  an  excuse  ;  for  he  came,  saw,  con- 
queredj  and  led  his  angular  bride  away  from  the 
Cottonwood  beneath  wliich  the  ceremony  had  been 
performed,  all  within  three  days  from  his  first  sight 
of  her  "folks's  "  camp.  Then  the  imprudent  man's 
troubles  began;  and  for  about  a  year  he  staggered 
home  from  the  trader's  store,  in  manner  and  form, 
and  meeting  with  the  same  deserved  reception,  as 
set  forth  in  the  beginning  of  this  history. 

So,    as   the   woman    comforted   her   wakefulness 


110  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

with  muttered  words  that  were  only  a  compromise 
with  profanity^  and  her  man  Joe  snored  in  fortu- 
nate unconsciousness  of  the  storm,  there  was  still 
another  person  in  the  cabin,  who,  more  than  any 
of  the  three,  was  the  sufferer  through  habitual 
drunkenness  and  domestic  strife.  The  daughter 
was  fifteen  years  old;  an  age  which,  with  such  as 
she,  means  all  the  softness,  tenderness,  and  beauty 
of  youth,  with  the  almost  mature  attractiveness  of 
womanhood.  That  her  trainhig  had  thus  far  been 
peculiar  and  imperfect  was  not  her  fault,  nor  that 
of  her  uncouth  tutor.  He  was  rough  and  coarse, 
as  his  kind  ever  are  ;  but  years  of  roughness  and 
coarseness  sometimes  fail  to  blot  out  in  a  man's 
heart  the  time  when  he  himself  was  young  and 
untouched  by  the  iron  that  sears  and  hardens.  As 
he  went  daily  to  delve  in  the  hill-sides,  ever  search- 
ing for  the  yellow  dust  and  ever  finding  only 
enough  to  feed  desire,  the  child  went  with  him, 
grasping  his  big  finger  with  her  tender  childish 
clasp.  As  she  lay  asleep  on  his  ragged  coat  in  the 
pine-shadows,  while  the  noon  heats  baked  the  bare 
brown  hills  that  were  dotted  with  pine  stumps  like 
huge  nails  half-driven,  the  long  lashes  trailing  her 
flushed  cheek  and  the  withering  mountain  fiowers  in 
her  little  tired  pudgy  hand,  old  Joe's  heart  warmed 
toward  her  with  a  feeling  that  brought  back  every- 
thing that  was  good  in  the  early  youth  of  a  wild 
life.  The  mountaineer  was  not  utterly  bad,  nor 
entirely  weak  ;  and  day  by  day  her  fingers  twined 
in  his  beard,  and  her  immeasurable  love  crept  into 
his  heart,   and  a  consciousness  of  his   trust   grew 


JOE'S  POCKET.  Ill 


upon  him.  And  then  the  little  one  had  the  virtue 
of  a  generation  of  East  Tennessee  mountain  virtue 
in  her  veins.  But  Joe  never  thought  of  that.  The 
rough  miners  sometimes  saw  their  neighbor  en- 
gaged in  strange  occupations,  as  they  passed  bj. 
Leaning  on  his  pick,  the  child's  bright  ejes  fixed 
upon  his  face,  and  forgetful  in  his  earnestness 
that  not  only  walls  but  mountains  and  trees  have 
ears,  he  told  her  of  the  country  and  the  people 
where  he  was  born ;  of  coon-hunts  and  log-roll- 
ings ;  of  the  few  months  during  which  he  had 
learned  all  he  ever  knew  of  the  hardness  of  the 
benches  of  a  primitive  school-house;  and,  more 
than  all,  of  his  mother.  He  tried  to  make  the 
wondering  infant  understand  that  such  as  he  could 
have  a  mother,  and  he  tried  to  teach  her  some  of 
the  things  that  mother  had  taught  him.  Perhaps 
there  were  other  listeners  than  the  passing  miners 
or  the  wondering  child,  as,  in  his  blundering  way, 
he  told  her  of  those  mysteries  we  all  do  but  dream 
of  and  hope  for,  but  with  dreams  and  hopes  that 
are  not  as  the  visions  of  the  night.  But  Joe  told 
his  daughter  of  that  Maker  of  all  things,  whose 
presence  seemed  to  rest  like  a  shadow  upon  these 
primeval  silences,  and  of  the  Christmas  of  so  many 
hundred  years  ago,  and,  indefinitely  and  with  many 
blunders,  of  right,  wrong,  love,  kindness,  and  duty. 
But  in  the  end  he  always  came  back  to  the  begin- 
ning of  his  stor}^;  to  what  he  "used  to  was"  and 
"had  orter  be  now,"  and  to  his  mother.  He  seemed 
to  fancy  that   she  might  be  living   yet.      "When 


112  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

your  daddy  finds  a  pocket,  we'll  go  back  there,  little 
'un,"  he  often  said. 

Joe's  bad  ways  had  begun  but  lately;  and  his 
daughter,  still  his  companion,  but  no  longer  a  child, 
began  to  have  the  dawn  of  trouble  upon  her  fair 
childish  face.  ^Now,  when  the  woman's  tongue  had 
abated  its  vigor,  and  she  too  seemed  to  have  at 
last  forgotten  her  husband's  oifence  in  slumber,  the 
girl  arose  and  glided  through  the  open  door  into  the 
brilliant  night.  The  conventionalities  of  the  world 
had  little  place  in  her  life,  and  as  she  leaned  upon 
the  broken  fence  and  looked  down  the  mountain 
road,  her  feet  bare  in  the  dew  and  her  round  arms 
lying  listlessly  upon  the  to23most  rail,  she  was  not 
conscious  of  herself,  or  that  the  beautiful  light,  so 
unkind  to  her  step-mother's  features,  transformed 
hers  into  those  of  .a  Madonna,  as  she  looked  up  into 
the  blue  depths  with  the  tears  upon  her  lashes.  By 
and  by,  in  the  vague  unhappiness  she  could  hardly 
define,  and  for  which  she  knew  no  remedy,  she  laid 
her  head  upon  her  arms  and  did  what  the  woman  of 
all  times  and  races  is  apt  to  do  :  she  cried.  It  was 
past  midnight.  She  heard  faintly  the  sentinel's 
challenge,  as  the  nightly  pomp  of  the  "grand 
rounds  "  came  and  passed ;  the  faint  clink  of  arms 
and  the  small  commotion  at  the  guard-house,  as  the 
surly  crew  of  prisoners  fell  into  line  to  be  counted; 
and,  lastly,  the  retreating  footsteps  and  settled  silence 
thatproclaimed'the  untimely  ceremony  done.  She 
had  heard  these  sounds  a  hundred  times  ;  they  were 
not  curious,  and  she  straightway  forgot  them  in  her 
girlish  tears. 


JOE'S  POCKET.  113 


Presently  the  sound  of  a  quick  footstep  came 
nearer  and  nearer  up  the  road.  It  was  a  jaunty 
figure  that  came  rapidly  toward  her,  as  she  raised 
her  sorrowful  head  to  look.  The  crimson  scarf 
upon  his  shoulder  proclaimed  him  only  officer-of- 
the-day,  but  it  was  worn  like  the  baldric  of  an  earl. 
The  moonlight  played  upon  button  and  epaulet,  and 
kissed  the  sombre  plume  in  his  hat,  and  flashed  up 
and  down  the  bright  scabbard  he  carried  upon  his 
arm.  But  all  this  was  not  so  much  the  fault  of 
Lieutenant  Thurston,  U.S.A.,  as  of  the  moonlight. 
He  was  only  a  soldier,  but  he  was  young,  and  had 
about  him  a  certain  elan  that  should  distinguish 
every  man  that  follows  the  flag  for  love  of  arms. 
As  he  came  he  timed  his  footsteps  to  the  tune  he 
whistled  —  something  that  had  in  it  a  suggestion  of 
life-let-US-cherish  and  devil-may-caredness  that  was 
strangely  at  variance  with  the  sleepy  hour  at  which 
he  marched. 

This  blithesome  son  of  Mars  had  flnished  his 
rounds  as  required  in  regulations,  and  under  the 
influence  of  wakefulness,  and  stimulated  by  the 
night's  balmy  splendor,  had  continued  his  walk  up 
the  mountain  road.  Was  that  all  ?  Young  men's 
actions  sometimes  flnd  unconscious  excuses  in  what 
they  are  pleased  to  call  tlieir  hearts.  He  had  often 
been  here  before  ;  so  often,  that  every  gaunt  cactus 
and  every  gray  stone  in  the  rugged  road  was  a  famil- 
iar thing.  As  he  came  blithely,  so  he  always 
returned  thoughtfully.  About  the  hardest  thinking 
the  lieutenant  did  was  when  he  was  returning  from 
Joe's  house.      Then  the  remembrance  of  a  homq 


114  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


three  thousand  miles  away  used  to  come  unsatisfac- 
torily into  his  mind.  He  thought  of  the  starchy 
respectability,  the  gold-spectacled  and  precise  pro- 
priety, of  the  middle-aged  gentleman  whom  he  des- 
ignated as  "the  governor."  Then,  there  was  a  fair 
sister  or  two,  and  a  circle  of  acquaintances.  But 
the  crowning  reflection  was,  "What  would  mother 
think?"  This  lady  the  lieutenant  knew  very  well, 
and  all  her  prominent  characteristics  were  long  since 
so  well  memorized  that  he  thought  with  a  compunc- 
tive  pang  of  the  pain  he  might  inflict  by  an  alliance 
with  anything  that  lacked  the  grand  essential  of 
"respectable  connections."  That  there  was  another 
side  to  the  question  was  also  true.  He  was  far  away 
from  anything  that  touched  family  respectability. 
He  was  literally  owned,  and  all  his  hours  and  move- 
ments were  governed,  by  the  great  republic  whose 
uniform  he  wore.  His  home  was  his  quarters,  his 
profession  his  sword.  Long  years  would  probably 
pass  before  he  would  even  see  the  home  or  the  peo- 
ple who,  little  as  they  suspected  it,  had  almost 
passed  out  of  his  life. 

Joe's  daughter  was  not  in  the  habit  of  waiting 
for  this  young  man  beside  the  fence  —  not  by  any 
means ;  and  if  you  had  questioned  her,  she  would 
have  deliberately,  not  to  say  indignantly,  denied  it. 
But  the  young  soldier  had  reached  that  stage  of  his 
experience  when  he  often  came  so  far  merely  to  see 
the  homely  house  in  which  lived  and  slept  the  crea- 
ture who  was  most  in  his  mind.  He  had  often  seen 
her,  and  spent  a  half-hour  in  listening  to  her  lisping 
English,  watching  the  flushes  come  and  go  upon  her 


JOWS  POCKET.  115 


cheek,  weighing  her  tact  and  evident  intelligence, 
and,  after  a  careless  fashion,  falling  more  deeply  in 
love.  But  it  had  always  been  upon  seemingly  casual 
occasions,  and  by  daylight. 

As  he  espied  her,  he  stopped  suddenly  in  his 
tune,  and  said,  as  usual,  ''  By  Jove  !" 

She,  after  hesitating  a  moment  between  inclina- 
tion and  a  natural  sense  of  propriety,  stayed  where 
she  was,  and  the  flush  on  her  cheek  was  strangely 
at  variance  with  the  tear-marks  that  were  also  there. 

This  rash  young  man  could  not  have  felt  more 
intense  pleasure  at  meeting  any  of  the  queens  of 
society  than  he  did  then.  It  was  reason  enough  to 
him,  as  it  would  have  been  to  most  of  us  under 
similar  circumstances;  and  he  came  near  and  held 
out  his  hand.  Then  he  also  leaned  carelessly  upon 
the  fence,  and  looked  at  the  sweet  oval  face,  red  and 
brown,  glorified  by  the  moonlight  and  stained  with 
tears. 

"You've  been  crying,"  said  he. 

^''Si^  Sefior; — yes,"  and  then,  grateful  for  the 
listening  ear,  she  began  to  tell  the  cause  of  her 
unhappiness.  In  the  attempt,  her  sorrows  overcame 
her,  and  she  laid  her  head  down  upon  her  arms 
again,  and  cried  harder  than  ever. 

There  was,  indeed,  little  use  for  her  to  do  aught 
but  cry.  Her  friend  already  knew,  or  guessed,  the 
story.  But  the  effect  was  such  as  might  have  been 
expected  under  the  circumstances.  The  pretence  of 
comforting,  combined  with  a  secret  desire  to  have 
the  pretty  trouble  go  on  as  long  as  possible,  came  to 


116  FRONTIER  AR3IY  SKETCHES. 

the  lieutenant  on  this  occasion  as  naturally  as  it 
does  to  all  men. 

"Don't  cry,"  he  said.  "  It  will  all  come  right 
in  the  morning." 

Such  miserable  platitudes  are  not  expected  to 
amount  to  much  in  any  case  ;  and  they  did  not  in 
tliis. 

"The  —  the  woman  b-b-eats  me,"  she  said,  and 
the  sobs  became  more  violent. 

Then  the  usual  remarks  were  at  an  end.  "Beats 
you!  —  do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  miserable  old 
—  ah,  —  that  she  has  ever  struck  you  ?"  and  his  face 
grew  to  an  unseemly  red  at  once. 

"Look  here!"  he  continued,  as  she  made  no 
reply;  "why  don't  you  and  the  old  —  and  your 
father  —  cut  loose  from  this  sort  of  thing?  You  and 
he  can  live  together,  can't  you  ?  Go  somewhere ; 
do  something;  but,"  he  added,  "don't  go  very 
far." 

Then  he  came  a  little  nearer  —  so  near  that  a 
tress  of  the  girl's  long  black  hair  lay  beneath  his 
hand.      "You  must  not  imagine  that  because  your 

disr that  because  your  father  gets  drunk  every 

night,  and  the — the  other  creature  strikes  you,  that 
you  have  no  friends.  If  this  kind  of  thing  occurs 
again,  we'll  make  it  warm  for  them;"  and  the  lieu- 
tenant placed  his  hand  caressingly  upon  her  shoul- 
der. 

Perhaps  he  meant  well  —  we  will  suppose  he 
could  hardly  help  it;  but  it  was  a  mistake.  The 
girl  arose  from  her  bent  posture,  and  turning  toward 
him  a  haughty  and  indignant  face,  and  eyes  that 


JOE'S  POCKET.  117 

showed  a  remarkable  capacity  for  the  expression  of 
anger,  without  a  word,  went  into  the  house. 

As  Lieutenant  Thurston  walked  slowly  home- 
ward, he  was  not  thinking  so  much  of  respectable 
connections  as  of  something  else.  His  mind  was 
very  much  occupied  with  a  new  idea  of  the  woman 
he  had  just  left.  Our  military  friend  was  learning 
that  womanliness,  and  the  indescribable  and  invis- 
ible virtue  that  clothes  it,  are,  regardless  of  associa- 
tions and  education,  an  instinct  and  inheritance. 
Old  Joe's  beautiful  child  was  not  a  mere  half- 
Spanish  girl.  On  this  night  at  least,  if  never  again, 
her  Saxon  blood  and  her  father's  homely  teachings 
had  come  to  her  aid.  The  soldier  pondered  these 
things.  He  was  deeply  stung,  and  his  face  burned 
with  mortification.  But  he  was  not  ignoble,  and 
the  unspoiled  honor  of  his  fresh  manhood  asserted 
itself.  "If  that  is  the  kind  of  woman  she  is  going 
to  be,"  he  mused,  "then,  by  Jove!  I  can't  see  what 
family  respectability  has  to  do  with  it  all."  And 
he  was  more  deeply  in  love  than  ever. 

In  the  morning,  Joe's  spouse  awoke  sullen  and 
sour,  and  berated  him  more  than  ever.  The  girl 
went  about  with  a  sad  face,  over  which  came  at 
intervals  a  red  flush,  possibly  caused  by  recollec- 
tions of  last  night.  The  miner  went  away  silent 
and  sad,  and  the  girl  stood  in  the  morning  sun- 
shine again  by  the  broken  fence,  and  watched  the 
guard-mount  afar  off,  and  thought  she  discerned  a 
tall  figure  there,  and  almost  wished  he  would  come 
again.     How  small  her  world  was,  and  how  large  a 


118  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCITES. 

figure  one  man  could  make  in  it,  she  never  reflected. 
It  is  ever  so.  A  woman's  world  may  be  filled  by  a 
very  tiny  dot,  so  she  but  loves  it. 

When  Joe  Biggs  came  again,  at  noon,  he  talked 
aside  to  his  daughter: 

"We  can't  stand  this  much  longer,  kin  we,  Sis?" 
and  as  she  only  answered  by  a  look,  he  continued : 

"I've  done  made  up  my  mind.  We'll  quit.  It 
was  a  mistake  o'  mine" — pointing  with  his  thumb 
over  his  shoulder  toward  the  house — "but  I  meant 
it  well.  Do  ye  'member  the  place  over  the  mountain 
I  showed  you  once  when  we  wus  thar?  Well,  there's 
suthin'  thar  that's  wuth  goin'  after.  How  do  I  know? 
Well,  I  don't  jest  Tcnow;  but  this  kind  o'  thing  can't 
last  alius, — luck'll  come  to  a  man  sometime,  an'  I'm 
a  mind  to  go  an'  try  fur  it  thar.  Git  ye  ready.  Sis ; 
we'll  go  fur  it  now  —  to-night;  an'  mind,  now,  don't 
be  a  tellin'  nobody." 

When  Lieutenant  Thurston  passed  the  miner's 
cabin,  soon  after  sunset,  he  thought  he  saw  a  laden 
donkey,  whose  rider  was  a  woman,  far  up  among  the 
pine-shadows  on  the  mountain  road.  It  was  indis- 
tinct in  the  gloaming,  but  the  man  who  plodded 
behind  reminded  him  of  Joe.  The  matter  passed 
from  his  mind,  and  he  forgot  it  in  thinking  of  some- 
thing he  did  not  see;  for  the  only  living  thing  at  the 
cabin  was  the  woman  who  sat  upon  the  step,  her 
chin  in  her  hands,  eyeing  him,  as  he  sauntered  past, 
with  all  the  vindictiveness  of  her  kind  toward  any- 
thing that  looks  like  respectable  humanity  —  that  is, 
"stuck  up." 

The  days   passed,  and   the  weeks,   and   nobody 


JOE'S  POCKET.  119 


seemed  able  to  answer  the  question,  "Where  is 
Joe?"  The  woman  came  to  the  commandant  for 
bread,  and  declared  herself  cruelly  deserted,  and  very 
badly  wounded  as  to  her  feelings ;  and  finally  she 
departed,  with  a  party  of  her  countrymen  who  wan- 
dered like  Midianites  over  the  land,  for  some  region 
where  men  were  more  faithful.  As  for  Lieutenant 
Thurston,  he  kept  his  thoughts,  whatever  they  were, 
to  himself.  He  was  suspected  of  a  careless  weakness 
for  Joe's  daughter  —  and  small  blame  to  him;  and 
he  was  rallied  upon  that  point  by  his  companions. 
But  he  seemed  to  fail  to  see  anything  particularly 
pleasant  in  their  careless  remarks  about  the  "lost 
child,''  and  they  desisted.  It  would  not  be  strange 
if  he  should  think  of  his  wise  advice  to  her  that 
moonlight  night,  as  somehow  connected  with  her 
and  her  father's  departure,  and  suspect  that  the 
character  of  his  last  interview  with  her  was  such  as 
to  render  him  rather  odious  to  her  thoughts  than 
otherwise. 

The  summer  months,  with  their  glory  of  air  and 
sunshine  and  balm,  passed  away,  and  when  the  earli- 
est snowflakes  of  a  mountain  winter  were  sifted  over 
the  land  Joe  and  his  daughter  were  well-nigh  for- 
gotten. But  the  dames  and  gentlemen  of  the  garri- 
son would  have  been  much  surprised  had  they 
known  that  the  gayest  and  brightest  of  them  all,  the 
life  of  their  limited  social  gatherings,  had  a  greater 
regard  for  the  mere  recollection  of  the  old  miner's 
beautiful  child  than  he  had  for  all  of  them,  or  for  the 
names  and  faces  in  the  far-away  land  where  he  had 
spent  his  boyhood  and  which  he  still  called  "home." 


120  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

The  lieutenant,  his  fellow-officers  thought,  was  grow- 
ing "odd."  He  borrowed  the  topographical  charts 
from  the  adjutant's  office  and  applied  himself  to  the 
geography  of  the  wild  mountain  ranges.  He  ques- 
tioned the  wandering  hunters  and  prospectors,  with 
the  private  hope  that  they  might  tell  him  something 
of  the  persons  he  was  thinking  of.  But  all  were 
ignorant.  Joe  and  his  daughter  had  strangely 
dropped  out  of  the  world. 

The  young  soldier  began  to  think  he  had  reached 
that  period  in  life  in  which  a  man  seems  no  longer 
to  have  any  use  for  himself  He  had  grown  tired  of 
his  daily  life  and  his  routine  duties.  His  pleasures 
had  become  very  tame  and  insipid,  and  the  winter's 
inactivity,  though  only  begun,  seemed  endless  and 
irksome.  His  constant  thought  of  the  miner's 
daughter,  which  was  the  real  cause  of  all  this,  he 
excused  to  himself  under  the  plea  of  ordinary  curios- 
ity. But  it  was  a  curiosity  which  wondered  if  she 
had  gone  because  of  him,  and  if  he  ever  occurred  to 
her  thoughts.  The  idea  gained  possession  of  him  that 
he  might  find  her,  and  that  he  would  like  to  try.  As 
he  thought  of  it,  it  seemed  that  by  some  rare  chance 
he  might  come  upon  her  hidden  among  the  hills 
of  that  almost  unknown  stream  whose  waters  ran 
toward  the  Pacific  thirty  miles  to  the  westward.  All 
that  men  knew  of  the  head-waters  of  the  Gila  then 
was  told  by  returning  explorers,  of  a  mysterious 
stream  whose  current  was  disturbed  only  by  the 
leaping  of  the  trout,  of  uplands  smiling  in  the  green- 
ness of  almost  perpetual  summer,  and  valleys  in 
which  the  traveller  seemed  to  have  entered  upon  a 


JOE'S  POCKET.  121 


new  world.  The  hills  were  full  of  precious  things, 
and  the  unhunted  game  which  started  from  almost 
every  brake  made  it  a  kind"  of  hunter's  paradise. 
Lieutenant  Thurston  had  heard  much  of  this  current 
geography.  For  a  long  time  he  had  heard  carelessly; 
but  of  late  it  had  seemed  to  oifer  a  fair  excuse  for 
getting  rid  of  himself.  When  he  had  asked  of  the 
commandant  a  scouting  party,  and  had  been  refused, 
he  bethought  himself  of  a  hunting  expedition,  and 
asked  for  leave  of  absence  and  an  escort.  These  he 
managed  to  obtain;  and  after  three  days  of  careful 
preparation,  with  eight  men  and  laden  mules,  he 
wended  his  way,  through  the  slush  of  melting  snow, 
up  the  mountain;  where  old  Joe  and  his  daughter 
had  gone  before.  The  man  upon  whom  depended 
his  safety  and  final  return  was  a  Mexican  guide,  who 
confirmed  all  the  stories  of  the  Gila  country,  and 
who  had  led  explorers  there,  he  said,  before  Thurston 
was  born. 

Were  this  a  journal  of  a  traveller's  adventures, 
the  frosty  solitudes  of  mountains  where  perhaps  a 
traveller's  foot  had  never  been  before  might  well 
furnish  a  page.  Men  write  of  the  Adirondacks,  and 
the  strange  wildness  of  regions  where  every  summer 
the  tourists  come.  But  those  experiences  in  which 
man  becomes  a  companion  of  the  silence  that  has 
been  unbroken  since  time  was  young,  are  seldom 
told.  The  slant  winter  sunshine  lingered  along  the 
aisles  of  pine,  and  tinged  with  a  melancholy  glory 
white  peaks  unseen  and  unnamed  before.  They 
drank  of  snow-born  streams  that  passed  in  cold  and 
tasteless   purity  away  to   unknown   depth    and   dis- 


122  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

tance.      The  holly  hung  its  drapery  of  green  and 
crimson  upon  the  hoary  ledges,  and  the  greenbriar 
and  bramble  lay  in   matted  impenetrability  across 
the    cavern's   mouth.      Great   bowlders    sat   poised 
upon    the    edges    of    abysmal   depths,    seeming   as 
though  the  mountain  wind  or  the  finger  of  a  child 
might  hurl  them  headlong.     The  hanging  creepers 
and  the  gray  liioss  clung  to  dizzy  acres  of  perpen- 
dicular  granite  with   tenacious   fingers   that   defied 
time  and  the  storm.     Here  and  there  the  cold  blue 
depths  of  a  mountain  tarn  lay  silent  between  gray 
peaks  that  had  been  mirrored   there  ten   thousand 
years  ;  and  in  its  oozy  edges  were  the  sharp  inden- 
tures made  by  the  hoofs  of  ,the  mountain  sheep,  the 
round  imprint  of  the  wild-cat's  cushioned  tread,  the 
dog-track  of  the  fox,  and,  hardening  in  the  crust,  the 
curious  marks  that  always  seem  to  have  been  made 
by  some  wandering  barefoot  child,  where  the  bear's 
cub  has  come  to  lap  before  his  winter  slumber.    And 
over  all  there  brooded  a  magnificent  silence  that 
seemed  a  fitting  respite  from  the  volcanic  thunders 
which,  wlien  the  world  was  young,  had  strewn  the 
valley  with  its  fire-scarred  rocks  and  thrust  the  bold 
peaks  into  the  smoky  air.     The  gray  bird  of  solitude 
sat  upon  the  crag  and  plumed  his  wing  so  near  that 
the  lone  wanderers  could  see  the  yellow  ring  in  his 
relentless    eye,   and   winged   his    silent  way  to   his 
unknown  eyrie  ;  and  save  him  there  seemed  to  be 
no  inhabitant  of  earth  or  air.     In  glens  so  deep  that 
only  the  sun  at  midday  looked  into  their  recesses, 
the  hardy  mountain  flowers  still  bloomed,  and  the 
coarse  grass  was  green  and  brilliant.     The  ledges 


JOE'S  POCKET.  123 


dripped  with  the  ooze  of  melting  snow,  and  the 
slender  icicles  which  grew  each  night  fell  tinkling 
into  the  rocky  depths  in  the  morning's  sun.  On  the 
far  summits,  where  tlie  foot  of  man  shall  never  rest, 
winter  held  unbroken  sway.  The  gathered  snow 
which  propped  itself  against  the  pines  on  the  moun- 
tain-side sometimes  broke  loose  from  its  fastenings, 
and  tumbled,  a  fleecy  cataract,  which  flung  its  spray 
into  their  faces,  and  buried  an  acre  in  its  rest.  And 
then  the  muffled  echoes  died  away,  and  the  wander- 
ers turned  aside  to  wonder  when  the  hour  would 
come  that  should  wrap  them  in  cold  suffocation  and 
chill  their  senses  into  drowsy  death. 

Lineal  distance  is  not  to  be  measured  in  moun- 
tain wanderings.  After  many  days  of  devious  jour- 
neying, the  lieutenant  knew  that  the  warm  fires  of 
the  post  were  glowing  scarce  fifty  miles  away.  He 
knew,  too,  that  somewhere  among  the  rocks,  per- 
haps scarce  a  hundred  feet  away,  were  the  dim  trails, 
the  blazed  trees,  the  remembered  landmarks  by 
which  men  had  come  and  gone  before,  and  which 
shortened  distance  and  made  intricacies  plain.  But 
to  be  lost  in  the  mountains  is  to  be  dazed,  bewil- 
dered, insane.  Men  lose  the  faculty  of  observation, 
and  wander  in  an  endless  and  hopeless  round.  They 
sit  down  in  final  despair,  when  only  a  ledge  shuts 
out  the  sight  of  home,  and  the  voices  of  friends 
might  almost  reach  their  ears.  The  lieutenant  was 
lost.  He  knew  it,  and  grimly  bit  his  lips.  The 
guide  was  lost ;  and  while  he  claimed  familiarity 
with  each  shadowy  glen,  and  old  friendship  with 
each  cliff's  imperturbable  face,  the  leader  knew  that 


124  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

he  also  was  wandering  at  random  amid  rocks  and 
liills  that  had  not  known  the  presence  of  him  or  any 
man.  With  a  contempt  for  unwarranted  pretences 
that  men  do  not  cease  to  feel  even  in  despair,  he 
addressed  the  Mexican  no  word,  as  he  himself  qui- 
etly took  the  lead.  The  party  rode  on  in  silence. 
In  the  face  of  every  man  except  the  leader  was  the 
knowledge  of  a  hopeless  bewilderment  amid  scenes 
never  known  before  save  to  the  unclouded  vision  of 
the  immortals.  But  when  he  spoke,  he  gave  his 
orders  with  the  bluff  distinctness  of  the  parade- 
ground.  For  himself,  he  did  not  think  he  cared. 
He  had  in  his  heart  that  high  courage  which,  regard- 
less of  physical  strength,  is  the  result  of  early  train- 
ing in  the  family,  the  school,  and  the  traditions  of  a 
courageous  race.  He  was  one  of  that  throng  of 
gladiators  whose  skill,  rather  than  whose  strength, 
the  world  is  beginning  to  understand,  and  in  whom 
is  illustrated  the  contrast  between  him  who  saluted 
IRero  in  the  arena,  and  him  whose  weapon  is  given 
him  first  by  his  mother,  to  be  sharpened  afterwards 
by  himself  at  school,  at  play,  and  in  the  first  lessons 
of  a  life  whose  prizes  are  open  to  every  man.  Yet 
this  young  soldier  was  not  a  remarkable  man.  He 
was  only  one  of  those  who  are  carving  out  the  desti- 
nies of  a  brilliant  century  through  the  difliculties  of 
daily  life.  He  knew  that  beyond  those  wild  and 
rugged  fastnesses  there  was  a  river,  an  open  coun- 
try, a  plain,  or  some  change  that  could  aiford  view 
and  hope  ;  and  as  he  rode  silently  at  the  head  of  his 
party,  he  fixed  his  eye  upon  some  distant  land-mark 
that  might  keep  them  from  wandering  in  the  end- 


JOE'S  POCKET.  125 


less  circle  of  bewildered  men,  and  help  them  to  the 
end  at  last,  whatever  that  end  might  be. 

So  long  as  the  snow  melted  in  the  morning  sun, 
thej  need  not  thirst  ;  so  long  as  the  startled  hare 
sprang  up  before  them,  they  need  not  want  for 
food ;  and  the  wilderness-beleagured  commander 
led  his  followers  on.  At  night,  in  some  sheltered 
spot,  the  blaze  of  cedar  boughs  threw  its  ruddy 
glare  into  the  brooding  darkness.  The  fox  drew 
near  to  wonder  at  the  illumination,  and  the  green 
light  of  the  deer's  bright  eye  flashed  upon  them 
from  beyond  the  fire-lit  circle.  It  was  a  wilder- 
ness where  even  the  Indian  seemed  never  to  have 
come,  and,  in  the  tameness  of  astonishment,  the 
beasts  came  near  to  them  in  seeming  friendship. 

Then  the  soldier  would  sometimes  leave  his  com- 
panions in  tlie  silence  of  slumber  or  thought,  and 
wander  away  among  the  rocks  and  shadows.  He 
did  not  go  to  brood  and  think  alone.  Perhaps  it 
seemed  to  him,  as  it  has  seemed  to  many  men  ere 
now,  that  He  whose  hand  had  reared  these  pinna- 
cles drew  near  and  filled  with  an  unseen  presence 
the  sinless  solitudes  of  the  primeval  and  uncursed 
world.  In  helplessness,  almost  in  despair,  he  may 
have  looked  upward  through  the  mighty  shadows  to 
the  sailing  clouds  and  the  calm  stars.  It  is  in  the 
desert,  amid  vast  solitudes  and*  awful  silences,  that 
men  may  reach  upward  and  almost  touch  the 
mighty  hand.  There  are  hours  when  no  man  is 
an  atheist. 

And  one  night,  as  he  walked  in  the  gloom,  he 
]ooked  back  and   saw  the  silent  group  painted  in 


126  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

striking  colors  by  the  ruddy  light  of  tliat  camp- 
fire  which  has  seemed  so  often  to  the  wanderer  the 
light  of  home.  A  faint  glow  went  before  him  into 
the  darkness,  and  he  fancied  he  dimly  saw  the  out- 
line of  a  path.  A  little  further,  and  that  was  again 
lost ;  but  he  thought  he  perceived  the  faint  odor  of 
new-delved  earth.  Here  and  there  a  huge  bowlder 
lay  in  his  way,  and  as  he  touched  it  with  his  liand 
he  could  feel  the  slimy  dampness  of  the  surface 
that  had  lately  lain  in  the  earth  of  the  hillside. 
Then  he  sat  down  upon  the  dry,  dead  pine-fringes, 
beneath  an  overhanging  rock.  Here  was  almost  a 
link  with  the  world.  The  morning  would  be  begun 
with  a  new  hope.  A  blessed  some-one  had  been 
here  before  him,  and  he  longed  for  light  to  see 
those  human  signs  again,  and  follow  them  to 
wherever  they  might  lead.  He  had  almost  started 
up  to  return  to  the  fire  again,  when  a  strange  sound 
fell  upon  his  ear,  and  he  .stopped  to  listen.  It  was 
as  a  whirlwind  heard  from  far.  "It  is  the  wind 
in  the  pines,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  still  listened 
as  it  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  Then  a  crackling 
sound  mingled  with  the  roar,  and  presently  a  great 
white  bulk  in  the  darkness  leaped  with  a  dull 
sound  into  the  valley  before  him,  and  spread  itself 
out  upon  the  ground.  Then  another  fell  with  a 
mighty  crash  almosf  at  his  feet,  and  he  crept  still 
nearer  to  the  protecting  rock.  And  while  the  great 
roar  gathered  in  sound,  and  the  foaming  white  sea 
came  down  like  a  relentless  doom,  the  pallid  face 
of  the  one  frail  mortal  who  stood  in  its  way  was 
turned  aside,  and  as  the  white  pall  settled  at  th^ 


JOE'S  POCKET.  127 


mountain's  base,  its  cold  folds  shut  in  a  figure  poor 
and  weak  as  compared  witli  the  mighty'  force  that 
overwhelmed  it,  but  grander,  indeed,  than  all,  in 
capacity  for  a  heroic  struggle  with  death. 

In  the  morning,  the  soldiers  and  guide  looked 
upon  a  great  heap  of  snow,  whose  outer  edge 
reached  nearly  to  their  camp-fire.  "He  is  dead," 
said  they,  as  they  counselled  among  themselves. 
At  noon  they  started  back  toward  home.  .  .  Was 
it  indeed  backward  1  The  eagles  that  watched  their 
wanderings,  and  the  gray  wolves  who  gnawed  their 
bones,  will  never  tell. 

But  he  was  not  dead.  The  hollow  rock  was 
upon  one  side  and  the  white  wall  of  snow  upon  the 
other,  and  between  lay  his  bed  of  dry  pine-leaves, 
prepared  for  him  by  the  angel  of  the  winds,  and 
softened  by  unseen  hands.  As  the  hours  passed 
by,  a  dim  blue  light  came  through  to  him,  and 
showed  him  the  crystal  outline  of  his  hopeless 
house.  He  called,  and  the  dull  sound  he  heard 
mocked  his  own  voice.  But  he  did  not  lack  air  ; 
neither  was  he  wanting  in  hope  and  energy.  He 
could  touch  the  mossy  rock,  and  the  earth  ;  and 
they  seemed  of  the  world,  and  friendly.  He  was 
hungry,  and  the  blue-white  light  smote  upon  his 
eyes  and  seemed  to  benumb  his  faculties.  As  lie 
reflected,  he  would  have  given  "all  his  knowledge 
of  geography  —  nay,  all  he  knew  beside  —  for  the 
topography  of  the  snowy  world  in  which  he  was 
buried,  so  that  he  might  tell  upon  which  side  the 
white  barrier  was  thinnest. 

Then,  as  the  first  gnawing  and  weakness  of  liun- 


128  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


ger  came  upon  him,  he  began  to  delve.  He  knew 
that  strength  would  fail  in  experiment,  and  that 
where  he  begun  he  must  continue.  As  his  fingers 
grew  numb  and  stiff  in  his  work,  he  wished  he 
might  barter  all  his  hopes  of  ease  and  affluence  for 
a  despised  spade.  Yet  his  prison  was  not  cold. 
The  snow  was  a  thousand  blankets,  and  the  radi- 
ating heat  of  the  earth  became  a  steam. 

After  many  hours,  the  opaline  mass  grew  slowly 
dark  again,  and  he  crawled  backwards  through  his 
narrow  tunnel,  to  chafe  and  warm  his  hands,  and 
rest.  Rest  came  with  sleep.  "He  giveth  his  be- 
loved sleep,"  and  the  angels  must  have  looked 
kindly  upon  the  place  where,  beneath  his  spotless 
tapestry,  one  lonely  pilgrim  lay,  like  a  play-wearied 
child,  with  his  head  upon  his  arm  in  tired  slumber. 

When  he  awoke,  he  knew  from  his  watch  that  he 
had  slept  five  hours.  He  was  frightened  to  think 
how  the  time  was  passing  and  he  not  saved.  Hun- 
ger waits  not  upon  efifort,  and  already  the  enemy 
was  insidiously  gnawing.  But  he  did  not  imme- 
diately set  to  work  again.  On  the  contrary,  he  did 
something  that,  to  the  uninitiated,  would  seem  the 
very  opposite.  He  was  not  utterly  without  a  solace 
and  comforter,  and  this  comforter  is  one  that  has 
accompanied  men  in  much  toil  and  weariness  in  this 
world.  It  comes  to  every  camp-fire,  and  stills  like 
a  balm  the  cry  of  hunger  and  cold.  It  was  a  brown 
pipe.  He  leaned  against  the  rock,  and  the  incense 
of  the  Virginia  weed  ascended  and  was  absorbed  in 
the  roof  of  virgin  snow.  After  a  while,  calmness 
c^me  to  him,  ar4d  he  again  crept  into  the  narrow 


JOE'S  POCKET.  129 


tunnel  he  had  begun.  Lying  prone,  he  pressed  the 
snow  beneath  him,  creeping  slowly  forward.  Wearily 
the  hours  passed.  Sixty  feet — seventy  —  ninety — 
a  hundred.  He  looked  backward  through  the  long 
passage,  and  thought  of  the  unknown  distance  yet 
to  go,  and  his  strong  heart  almost  failed  him.  A 
hundred  and  ten  —  twenty.  His  head  swam,  and 
the  blood  from  his  numb  fingers  stained  the  snow. 
Ten  feet  more,  and  his  hands  were  like  sensitive 
sticks,  and  almost  refused  tlieir  office.  Then  he 
crept  slowly  back,  and  crawling  to  his  couch,  tried 
to  chafe  his  stiffened  fingers  into  something  like  life 
and  feeling.  Darkness  had  come  again,  and  he  lay 
there,  not  knowing  if  he  slept,  or  if  indeed  he  saw 
visions  of  another  country,  witli  orchards  in  white 
bloom,  and  paths  beside  rivers,  and  shining  spires 
of  fair  cities  above  the  mists  of  morning.  Afterward 
his  raw  hands  were  swollen  until  at  sight  of  them 
he  almost  smiled;  yet  he  crept  into  the  long  tunnel 
again,  and,  with  pain  at  every  stroke,  worked  at  his 
task  for  life.  A  huge  bowlder  intervened,  and  with 
infinite  pains  he  delved  around  it.  The  slow  hours 
passed,  and  he  was  still  another  hundred  feet  nearer 
the  far-off  world.  He  ate  the  snow  from  thirst,  and 
the  thirst  grew  as  he  ate,  and  his  throat  was  sore 
and  swollen.  He  was  chilled,  and  drowsiness  nearly 
overpowered  him.  He  was  afraid  to  sleep,  for  he 
dimly  knew  that  sleep  was  death.  He  was  weary 
with  a  languor  he  had  never  felt  before,  and  the  nar- 
row backward  track  seemed  too  long  to  be  traversed 
again.  Weariness  had  overcome  hunger,  and  all 
feelings  had  given  place  to  utter  exhaustion.  And 
9 


130  FRONTIER  AR3IY  SKETCHES. 

still  with  weary  strokes  he  plied  his  task.  He  knew 
that  light  must  soon  come,  or  death.  He  could  not 
waste  strength  in  crawling  back  to  his  bed.  He 
could  not  wind  his  watch  with  his  numb  fingers,  and 
the  long  hours  passed  uncounted;  and  still,  with 
that  dogged  energy  with  which  strong  men  fight 
death,  he  delved  on,*  with  movements  so  slow  and 
tired  that  with  remaining  consciousness  he  almost 
doubted  if  he  were  not  asleep.  Three  hundred  feet, 
—  and  when  morning  came  again  and  shone  dimly 
through  the  snow,  he  hardly  noticed,  and  did  not 
care,  that,  white  and  strong,  it  lit  with  the  radi- 
ance of  spring  the  confines  of  his  living  grave. 

The  March  sunshine  lights  up  the  narrow  valley 
with  a  blithesome  glitter,  that  seems  brighter  by  con- 
trast with  the  lingering  snow  upon  the  higher  hills. 
The  air  is  full  of  the  balm  and  sweetness  of  the 
southern  mountain  ranges,  and  upon  every  hand  are 
the  evidences  of  that  strange  mingling  of  perennial 
spring  and  eternal  cold  which  in  more  level  coun- 
tries seems  a  fable. 

Strewn  along  the  edges  of  a  noisy  stream  are  four 
or  five  log  houses.  Spots  of  brown  earth  dot  the 
hillside ;  the  uprooted  bowlders  have  tumbled  into 
the  torrent,  and  on  every  hand  are  evidences  of  the 
spade  and  the  pick.  The  little  settlement,  in  the 
very  heart  of  the  southern  Sierras,  is  very  new,  and 
as  yet  unheard  of  in  the  world  of  stocks  and  trade. 
Everything  necessary  to  the  rude  life  of  the  place  is 
carried  tliither  upon  the  backs  of  donkeys,  and  costs 
almost  its  weight  in  the  precious  dust — of  which 


JOE'S  POCKET.  131 


there  is  some  considerable  quantity  hidden  in  these 
cabins.  All  around  lie  the  peaks  and  valleys  of  an 
unknown  wilderness,  through  which  even  the  miner 
has  hardly  yet  wandered.  You  might  pass  and  re- 
pass many  times  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of 
Biggs' s  gulch,  and  not  suspect  its  existence.  The 
veritable  Biggs  himself,  accompanied  by  his  daugh- 
ter, passed  around  the  spur  and  near  the  new  snow- 
bank, about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  on  this 
tenth  day  of  March.  It  was  Sunday,  and  he  carried 
nothing  but  a  stick.  Their  errand  was  not  this  time 
the  perpetual  gold,  but  wild  flowers  for  her  and 
trout  for  him.  But,  after  all,  there  was  something 
in  their  Sunday's  pleasure  unsuspected  by  them. 
As  they  passed  by,  the  old  man  stopped  to  look  at 
the  huge  heap  that  had  come  so  suddenly  and  so 
late,  and  whose  outer  crust  was  fast  melting  under 
the  rays  of  the  valley  sun.  As  they  stood  there,  his 
eyes,  ever  accustomed  to  notice  the  small  things  of 
nature,  discovered  a  curious  cavity  in  the  snow,  fast 
widening  in  the  sun.  He  stooped  to  obtain  a  better 
view.  "Suthin  inside  begun  that  hole,  sis,  an'  the 
meltin'  is  a  finishin'  of  it,"  he  said,  and  inserted  his 
fishing- stick.  At  the  very  entrance,  it  touched  some- 
thing soft.  Then  he  broke  away  the  crust,  and 
there,  before  tlieir  astonished  eyes,  lay  a  blue-clad 
figure,  the  face  downward  and  resting  upon  an  out- 
stretched arm. 

It  were  useless  to  note  the  ejaculations  of  aston- 
ishment, some  of  which  had  a  strong  though  un- 
meant touch  of  irreverence,  as  the  mountaineer  drew 
fortli   into   the   sunlight   the   limp  figure,   and   the 


132  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

bright  rays  kissed  the  pallid  and  suffering  face  of  the 
soldier  who  had  fought  with  death  and  been  almost 
conquered.  It  would  have  been  entirely  in  order  if 
the  girl  had  screamed  or  swooned.  She  did  neither, 
but  her  face  took  at  once  a  flush  and  a  pallor. 
"Wait  a  minnit,"  shouted  the  old  man,  somewhat 
flurried,  and  started  off  as  fast  as  his  elderly  limbs 
would  carry  him.  As  he  passed  around  the  spur, 
the  girl  stood  looking  at  the  unconscious  form,  and 
her  face  showed  a  curious  mingling  of  emotions. 
Then  her  eye  caught  sight  of  one  bleeding,  swollen 
hand,  and  as  she  knelt  and  lifted  it  she  began  to 
cry.  "Then  she  took  the  other;  and  it  would  seem 
that  she  thought  to  warm  and  heal  them  by  contact 
with  her  fresh,  wet  cheek.  As  the  moments  passed, 
she  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  him.  She  touched 
his  cheek  with  hers,  and  smoothed  back  the  damp 
hair.  Then  she  suddenly  left  him,  and  ran  to  the 
bank  round  which  her  father  had  disappeared,  and 
looked  up  toward  the  village,  l^o  one  was  coming. 
She  glanced  apprehensively  around;  not  even  a  bird 
was  near.  Then,  as  if  fearful  of  the  loss  of  time, 
she  darted  back  to  where  he  lay,  and,  kneeling,  lifted 
his  shoulders  in  her  arms,  and  pressed  his  head  to 
her  bosom  as  a  mother  would  press  her  little  child. 
Even  as  the  tears  fell  down  upon  his  face,  a  rosiness 
of  pity  and  love  overspread  her  own.  "Ay  di  mi^'''' 
she  said,  "  poor  theeng,  poor  theeng."  But  in  the 
midst  of  her  caresses  and  lamentations,  the  soldier 
opened  his  eyes.  He  said  long  afterwards  that  he 
would  have  done  so  had  he  really  been,  as  she 
thought  him,  dead.     She  just  laid  him  down  again, 


JOE'S  POCKET.  133 


and  sat  apart  in  shame,  daring  neither  to  look  at 
him  nor  leave  him.  Her  father  came  with  his  com- 
panions, and  as  they  carried  him  to  the  cabin  the 
girl  followed  far  behind — glad  as  a  guardian  angel 
for  the  saving  of  a  soul,  ashamed  as  Eve  at  the 
voice  in  the  garden. 

It  is  strange,  indeed,  how  near  the  brink  of  the 
great  gulf  a  man  may  go,  and  yet  return.  An  hour 
more  in  the  snow-bank,  and  the  soldier  had  never 
seen  the  sunlight  again.  As  it  was,  the  sluggish 
blood  was  slow  enough  to  resume  its  flow  through 
chilled  and  stiifened  veins.  But  as  he  lay  beside 
the  one  window  in  Joe's  cabin  and  looked  out  upon 
the  scenes  of  a  new  life,  it  seemed  as  though  he  did 
not  much  care.  The  distant  post,  guard-mount  and 
dress  parade,  the  midnight  tour  on  the  guard-line, 
his  loved  profession,  and  the  charm  and  glitter  of 
arms,  all  seemed  to  be  far-away  and  almost  forgotten 
things.  Day  by  day  his  strength  came  slowly  back, 
and  he  was  indifferent  as  to  whether  his  friends 
knew  of  his  fate  or  only  guessed  and  wondered.  He 
was  enjoying  the  only  absolute  and  unquestioned 
dominion  a  man  ever  exercises  in  this  democratic 
land  —  the  dominion  of  the  convalescent.  He 
seemed  almost  to  have  forgotten  his  lady  mother  ; 
and  the  mild  terrors  of  an  infringement  of  the  Dra- 
conian statutes  regarding  respectable  connections  no 
longer  troubled  him.  Joe  Biggs  went  his  daily  way 
to  his  digging,  and  the  girl,  who  sat  demurely  at  the 
little  fire  and  occupied  herself  with  the  endless 
stitching  of  her  sex,  was  his  physician,  if  he  had 
any.     Sometimes,  as  he  watched  her,  there  was  the 


134  FUONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

old  merry  twinkle  in  liis  eye,  and  a  sly  smile  dawned 
in  liis  face.  Perhaps  lie  was  thinking  of  how  very 
cunningly  he  had  found  her  again,  or  of  the  great 
ridiculousness  of  the  current  supposition  that  he 
came  near  dying  in  the  snow-bank. 

But  he  talked  to  her,  and  was  rewarded  by  the 
interest  with  which  she  listened  to  the  strange  story 
he  told  her.  And  then  he  feigned  to  sulk,  by  no 
means  adding  to  his  general  agreeableness  thereby, 
and  grew  tyrannical,  and  declared  that  unless  she 
came  near,  nay,  even  sat  upon  the  bed-side,  he 
would  probably  never  recover.  Once,  as  she  sat 
there,  he  told  her  of  his  far-away  home,  and  of  his 
mother  and  sisters;  and  then  he  entered  more  largely 
into  the  subject,  and  described,  even  more  clearly 
than  her  father  had  done,  the  characteristics  of  tlie 
two  great  races  from  which  she  had  distantly,  and 
very  fortunately,  come. 

Upon  bright  days  of  the  advancing  spring,  he 
walked  about  the  little  mountain  hamlet  that  had  as 
yet  scarce  so  much  as  a  fortuitous  name,  and  was 
apparently  much  interested  in  the  life  of  the  mines. 
He  went  with  the  girl  to  his  last  camp,  and  they  two 
looked  with  curious  eyes  at  the  camp-fire  ashes  that 
lay  there  leached  and  sodden,  with  a  broken  knife 
and  a  lost  bayonet  as  mementos  of  the  bewildered 
wanderers  who  had  last  been  there.  And  they  stood 
together  at  the  shelving  rock,  and  her  face  flushed, 
and  her  black  eyes  sparkled  with  pitying  tears,  as 
he  told  her  of  his  days  and  nights  in  the  snow.  No 
wonder  that  he  became  to  her  the  central  object  of 
all  thoughts,  and  the  great  concern  and  care  of  her 


JOE'S  POCKET.  135 


life.  For  slie  still  cliose  to  believe  lie  was  not 
strong,  and  made  him  savory  dishes  of  mountain 
quails,  and  demurely  cautioned  him  about  his  vari- 
ous imprudences.  She  believed  she  knew  men,  and 
their" ways  and  doings.  She  had  had  the  care  of  one, 
and  a  wayward  one,  for  some  years.  As  for  Lieu- 
tenant Thurston,  and  his  masculine  submissiveness 
to  all  this  tyranny,  he  was  conscious  of  but  one 
defined  and  positive  feeling  in  regard  to  it :  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  that  an  indefinite  continuance  of 
it  would  suit  him  precisely. 

One  day  he  followed  Joe  to  his  hole  in  the  hill- 
side, and  they  sat  together  upon  a  log  at  the  mouth 
of  the  shaft. 

'*My  friend,"  said  he,  "I  must  go  back  to  the 
post;  will  you  lend  me  that  mule  ?  "  It  really  was  a 
diminutive  donkey  of  which  he  spoke. 

'*  Well,  now,  —  sho,"  said  Joe,  "ye  needn't 
hurry.  Besides,  ye  can't  find  the  way  'thout  I  go, 
an'  I  ain't  got  time." 

"I'll  find  a  guide,  Mr.  Biggs.  Will  you  lend  me 
the  mule  ? "  '  • 

"  Y-e-s,  of  course,"  said  Joe;  "but,"  he  added, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "how '11  I  git  the  animal 
ag'in?" 

"I'll  bring  it  to  you." 

"An'  come  ag'in  yerself?  " 

"Certainly." 

The  elder  man  looked  at  the  younger  keenly  and 
inquiringly.  He  was  peculiar  in  the  respect  that  all 
his  kind  are,  and  cared  no  whit  for  any  man's  dig- 
nity.   So,  between  two  who  by  this  time  understood 


136  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

each  other  thoroughly,   the   conversation  was  con- 
tinued. 

' '  What  would  you  come  back  here  for  ?  You  don't 
belong  to  this  kind." 

"I  do  not  belong  to  any  kind;  and,"  desper- 
ately, "I  would  come  back  for  your  daughter." 

"  Don't  ye  do  it  'nless  ye  come  fair  an'  square, — 
I  advise  ye,  now.  I  like  ye,  young  man  ;  I  saved 
yer  life,  an'  I'd  do  it  ag'in.  But  if  ye  ever  use  what 
I  done  for  you  for  anything  as  isn't  square  an'  fair 
between  my  folks  and  yourn,  it  'ud  a  been  better  for 
ye  never  to  a  come  out'n  the  snow-pile." 

"I  tell  you  I  will  come  again,  and  that  I  am  an 
honest  man,  and  a  grateful  one.  What  I  mean  is 
plainly  what  I  say," — and  he  rose  to  go  away. 

"  Hold  on,  youngster  !"  cried  Joe  ;  "I  knowed  it, 
but  I  wanted  to  make  sartin'.  Bless  ye,  I  ain't 
blind.  Does  she  know  it, —  have  you  said  anything 
to  her?"  he  continued,  in  a  lower  voice. 

"Well, — yes  ;  I  think  I  have  said  too  much.  I 
am  afraid  there  is  one  thing  that  I  have  not  suffi- 
ciently thought  of.  If  I  should  do  precisely  as  I 
wish,  it  would  be  very  imprudent.  I  —  I  have  not 
much  money." 

"Come  with  me  ;  I  want  to  show  ye  sutliin' 
purty,"  and  Biggs  laid  hold  of  the  young  man's 
sleeve,  and  started  back  toward  the  cabin.  When 
there,  he  lighted  the  greasy  implement  contrived 
to  do  duty  as  a  lamp,  and  crept  under  the  rude 
bedstead.  "Come  on!"  he  cried  from  unknown 
depths;  and  the  soldier  went  down  after  him  and 
found  himself  in  a  kind  of  cellar,  the  earthen  roof  of 


JOE'S  POCKET.  137 


which  was  supported  bj  cedar  beams,  as  mines  are, 
—  for  the  cabin  had  no  floor  but  earth.  ''This  is 
whar  I  lived  afore  I  built  the  cabin  on  top,"  said 
the  okl  man.  "I've  been  poor  all  my  life,  an'  now 
the  luck  has  turned  at  last.  This  is  whar  I  keep  the 
stuff."  Then  he  threw  aside  sundry  old  blankets, 
gunny-sacks,  and  dried  skins,  and  disclosed  three  or 
four  large  glass  jars,  such  as  are  used  in  packing 
relishes,  and  some  small  sacks  made  of  canvas.  He 
took  up  a  quart  bottle,  and  as  he  held  it  to  the 
smoking  light  the  dull  yellow  gleam  of  the  metal 
showed  it  to  be  full.  Then  he  lifted  another,  which 
held  the  same  yellow  hoard.  They  were  all  full. 
There,  before  his  eyes,  the  soldier  saw  many  thou- 
sands of  dollars.  The  old  man  sat  down  upon  a 
broken  box,  and  eyed  his  treasures,  and  talked. 
He  told  how  he  had  run  away  from  whiskey  and  a 
cross  woman,  and,  coming  to  this  s]3ot,  had  found 
"signs."  He  had  made  a  dug-out,  and  killed  game 
for  food,  and  opened  a  drift  into  the  hill-side.  He 
said  he  had  "sloshed  around"  the  bottom  of  the 
hill  a  good  while  before  he  had  concluded  to  really 
go  at  it.  He  had  found  pockets  before,  and  "kinder 
knowed  "  there  was  one  somewhere  about  here.  He 
had  a  hard  time,  but  finally  "  struck  it  rich,"  and  at 
last  came  upon  the  pocket  he  had  been  looking  for 
all  his  life.  He  was  glad  he  had  come  ;  for,  he 
argued,  what  good  would  it  do  a  man  "to  hev  a 
million,  an'  that  'ar  woman  too?"  When  his  luck 
came,  he  was  afraid,  as  men  often  are  under  such 
circumstances,  and  for  a  month  did  not  even  tell  his 
daughter.     Day  after  day  he  took  out  the  veined 


138  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

and  crumbling  rock,  sometimes  almost  pure  gold. 
He  crushed  it  in  a  rude  mortar,  and  subjected  it  to 
the  clumsy  chemistry  of  the  mountains,  witli  instru- 
ments of  his  own  contriving,  and  at  night.  Then 
he  needed  help,  and  took  his  daughter  into  the 
somewhat  miserly  secret.  Finally  he  induced  some 
wandering  miners  to  settle  in  his  neighborhood,  for 
the  sake  of  company  and  protection.  They  had  all 
been  successful  to  some  extent,  but  none  of  them 
could  do  more  than  guess  at  the  old  man's  success, 
with  the  peculiar  miner's  intuition  in  respect  to  such 
things.  In  the  course  of  his  conversation  in  the 
cellar,  he  made  the  startling  announcement  that  he 
had  twice  been  back  to  the  post,  and  that  it  was 
only  sixty  miles  away  by  his  trail.  When  asked 
what  he  had  gone  there  for,  he  answered,  "quick- 
silver" and  "  suthin'  to  wear,"  and  told  how  his 
daughter  had  remained  "cached"  in  the  mountains 
until  his  return.  As  he  told  this  story,  with  evi- 
dences of  its  truthfulness  all  around  him,  the  soldier 
wondered  if  this  was  not  Aladdin,  and  if  he  were 
not  dreaming.  "  J^ow,  youngster,"  said  the  miner, 
in  conclusion,  "I've  told  ye  this,  so'st  the  arrange- 
ment needn't  be  one-sided.  I  tell  it  to  ye,  'cause  I 
think  ye're  honest.  The  pocket's  petered,  an'  ain't 
wuth  much  now;  but  my  lead's  wuth  more  than  I'm 
just  now  willin'  to  lay  myself  out  on.  I'm  gettin' 
old,  an'  am  goin'  to  quit." 

They  climbed  the  ladder  and  emerged  again  into 
the  outer  air.  As  they  stood  in  the  sunlight,  it 
seemed  more  than  ever  a  dream. 

But    to   the    old    frontiersman   must   necessarily 


JOE'S  POCKET.  139 


come  some  relief  after  socli  earnest  discourse.  He 
turned  away  at  the  door,  and  as  he  departed,  looked 
back  and  said,  "  Ye  kin  hev  the  jackass,  an'  be 
d d  to  ye.     I  only  said  it  to  try  ye." 

The  night  passed  to  the  lieutenant  as  a  waking 
dream.  He  had  lighted  upon  a  wonder,  and  through 
the  moonlit  hours  he  tossed,  questioning  if  morning- 
would  find  all  tliose  jars  of  yellow  metal  real  things. 
The  wealth  of  this  poor  girl  of  the  mountains 
exceeded  his  mother's  dreams  of  monied  respecta- 
bility,—  though  he  did  that  lady  the  strict  justice  to 
remember  that  she  required  of  her  ideals  a  little 
more  than  mere  money.  Aside  from  all  this,  was 
he  willing  to  forego  all  there  was  for  him  in  tlie 
far-off  world,  for  this  sweet  child  of  the  desert, 
and  to  accept  her,  and  her  alone,  and  forever,  as 
just  and  full  compensation  for  all  there  might  be 
besides'^  A  week  ago  he  had  deliberately  concluded 
upon  his  course,  and  was  surprised  to  find  himself 
questioning  now. 

In  the  morning,  a  donkey  stood  at  the  door, 
accompanied  by  a  companion.  He  was  assured 
that  the  miner  wlio  was  to  go  with  him  knew  the 
way;  and  as  he  started,  the  girl  stood  in  the  door- 
way, shading  her  eyes  with  her  little  brown  hand, 
with  pleasure  and  regret  striving  for  the  mastery  in 
her  face.  She  knew  he  would  return.  He  had 
told  her  that,  and  she  believed  him.  In  truth,  she 
did  not  see  why  he  should  not.  A  young  woman 
cannot  be  expected  to  understand  the  mysteries  of 
a  life  she  has  never  known  or  even  dreamed  of. 

They  met  the  old   man  in    the   path.     He  was 


140  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

wiser,  and  had  not  much  to  say;  but  as  they  passed 
by,  he  shouted  after  them  :  ''  Bring  me  some  quick- 
silver when  you  come."  He  had  never  been  very 
romantic,  even  in  his  own  affairs  of  the  heart.  It 
was  not  surprising  that  he  should  insist  upon  look- 
ing upon  this  as  mere  matter  of  fact.  Old  Joe  was 
a  man  of  very  hard  sense,  after  all. 

For  two  days  they  plodded  steadily  on,  the 
returning  wanderer  paying  little  heed  to  the  road, 
and  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts,  following  in  the 
trail  of  his  leader.  On  the  third  day  they  caught 
sight  of  tlie  floating  banner  on  the  slender  flag-staff, 
idly  flaunting  its  glories  to  the  green  world  of 
silence  and  sunshine.  The  sight  gave  him  a  chok- 
ing sensation.  When  he  alighted  at  his  quarters, 
they  were  inhabited  by  another  ;  and  the  whole  gar- 
rison, from  the  commandant  down,  and  including 
that  class  with  whom  he  had  always  been  most  pop- 
ular, the  ladies,  looked  at  him  as  at  one  risen  from 
the  dead.  He  briefly  told  them  his  story,  saying 
not  a  word  of  the  personality  of  his  rescuers.  He 
learned  then  that  his  companions  had  not  returned. 
But  he  had  grown  accustomed  to  startling  things, 
and  was  not  surprised.  He  had  been  dropped  from 
the  rolls,  and  his  record  closed  as  one  dead.  Even 
that  failed  to  shock  him  now.  He  confessed  to  him- 
self, with  some  surprise,  that  he  wished  above  all 
things  to  get  back  to  Old  Joe's  little  cabin,  and  see 
that  little  uncultured  womanly  woman,  who,  he  had 
almost  come  to  believe,  was  the  one  angel  of  the 
universe. 

The  same  night  the  commandant  received  a  com- 


JOE'S  POCKET.  141 


munication,  addressed  through  him  to  the  Secretary 
of  War,  tendering  the  unconditional  resignation  of 
First  Lieutenant  Thurston,  Third  Cavalry;  and  at 
the  end  was  the  startling  declaration  that,  after  so 
long  an  absence,  he  had  returned  to  his  post  only  to 
perform  the  duty  necessary  to  a  soldier's  honor. 

That  night  he  locked  his  door  and  read  his  let- 
ters. There  were  several  from  his  mother,  and  two 
or  three  from  female  friends  who  inquired  when  he 
intended  to  pay  the  long-deferred  visit  to  his  home. 
He  read  the  delicate  lines,  and  the  faint  perfume  of 
old  association  touched  his  senses.  But  he  laid 
them  upon  the  fire,  and  moodily  watched  them  turn 
to  ashes.     Perhaps  they  were  never  answered. 

Four  slow  weeks  went  by,  and  the  communica- 
tion came  that  ended  his  military  career  forever. 
He  carried  it  to  his  quarters,  and  locked  himself  in, 
and  tried  to  realize  his  situation.  He  had  been  lost 
in  the  mountains  ;  he  had  looked  death,  slow  and 
cold,  steadily  in  the  face.  In  a  few  weeks  he  had 
tasted  nearly  all  there  is  in  life's  cup,  the  bitter  and 
the  sweet.  But  through  it  all,  there  was  no  moment 
more  full  of  regret  than  this. 

Then,  at  the  trader's  store,  there  was  the  busy 
outfitting  of  a  train  of  mules  with  all  things  neces- 
sary to  a  mountain  life ;  and  clad  in  homely  gray, 
with  slouched  hat  and  spurred  heel,  citizen  Thurs- 
ton directed  the  enterprise.  It  began  to  be  said 
among  his  brethren  that  after  all  Thurston  was  a 
shrewd  fellow,  and  had  undoubtedly  found  among 
the  mountains  something  rich.  But  to  the  last  he 
told  no  tales ;  and  as  the  tinkling  procession  passed 


142  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

the  house  known  as  "Joe's  cabin,"  the  blue-clad 
throng  looked  their  last  upon  a  man  who  had  once 
been  one  of  them,  but  now  passed  out  of  their  world 
forever. 

There  is  a  certain  town  on  the  far  Pacific  tjoast 
which  has  grown  up  of  late  years  with  the  strange 
growth  which  is  born  of  traffic  in  an  opening  mining 
country,  and  which  agricultural  communities  never 
know.  There  is  an  elegant  mansion  there,  and  its 
proprietor  is  reputed  very  wealthy.  Within  are 
luxurious  carpets,  and  shining  wood,  and  marble, 
and  plate  glass.  Fruits  ripen  in  the  yard,  and  rare 
flowers  bloom  on  the  terrace.  He  is  a  man,  too,  not 
alone  of  luxurious  tastes,  but  of  intelligence  and 
public  spirit.  But  he  is  mostly  envied  because  of 
his  wife.  The  curious  people  who  have  frequently 
scrutinized  her  elegant  attire  have  also  noticed  that 
she  speaks  English  with  a  little  lisp,  and  apparently 
regards  her  husband  in  the  light  of  a  demigod.  But 
they  little  know  how  the  lady  has  changed  under  the 
tireless  lessons  of  love,  or  by  what  slow  processes  the 
mountain  nymph  became  at  last  the  w^oman  as  cul- 
tured as  she  was  always  beautiful.  And  the  man 
who  sometimes  looks  thoughtfully  at  the  old  sword 
and  crimson  scarf  that  hang,  somewhat  out  of  place, 
over  the  mantlepiece,  himself  scarcely  realizes  how 
much  he  has  accomplished,  and  how  far-away  and 
valueless  is  that  respectability  which  comes  by  birth, 
as  compared  with  that  which,  by  faithfulness  and 
honor,  and  sometimes  through  danger  and  suffering, 
a  man  may  win  for  himself. 


YIL 
I^EW  MEXIOAI^  OOMMO]^  LIFE. 

THERE  is  a  country  far  to  the  southwest  in 
which  everything  is  new,  crude,  and  undevel- 
oped, where  the  evidences  of  enterprise  and  the  set- 
tlements of  white  men  are  few,  but  which  is  the  seat 
of  an  ancient  and  Christian  civilization,  and  whose 
capital  is  the  oldest  town  in  America  but  one. 

Several  centuries  have  elapsed  since  the  Spanish 
tongue  and  Catholic  faith  came  together  to  N^ew 
Mexico.  They  antedate  the  settlement  of  James- 
town and  the  romance  of  Pocahontas.  The  then 
mighty  Spanish  power  had  founded  a  government 
here  before  the  city  of  New  Amsterdam  had  passed 
from  the  hands  of  its  Dutch  founders.  The  roads 
and  mountain  passes,  traversed  with  such  precaution 
now,  were  the  routes  of  extensive  trade  long  before 
the  first  wagon-road  had  been  made  across  the  Alle- 
ghanies.  When  the  Delawares  and  Hurons  were 
still  engaged  in  their  desperate  attempt  to  hold 
their  ancient  possessions  against  the  aggressions  of 
the  white  men,  the  aborigines  of  this  country  had 
been  converted  to  slavery  and  Christianity,  always 
excepting  those  implacable  and  unconquerable  tribes 
whose  hands  are  against  every  man,  and  ,who  were 
then,  as  they  are  now,  the  scourges  of  advancing 
civilization.     There  are  churches  here  in  which  the 

143 


144  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

disciples  of  the  sword  and  the  cross  said  mass  more 
tlian  two  hundred  years  ago,  and  mines  whose  shafts 
have  been  closed  almost  three  centuries. 

Interesting  as  are  the  present  aspects  of  this 
strangest  of  all  the  countries  h^ing  within  the 
shadow  of  the  American  flag,  the  I^ew  Mexico  of 
the  past  would  be  still  more  curious  could  we  but 
read  the  story  that  is  everywhere  written  in  unde- 
cipherable ruin.  The  very  names  of  the  ancient 
towns,  whose  walls  are  now  grass-grown  ridges  of 
earth,  have  been  forgotten  with  their  inhabitants. 
Almost  the  last  vestige  of  the  civilization  of  con- 
quest is  gone.  All  that  the  Mexican  now  knows  he 
could  easily  have  learned  since  the  country  came 
under  the  control  of  the  United  States,  and  in  the 
comparatively  short  time  during  which  American 
enterprise  has  had  a  foothold.  Everywhere,  even 
in  places  so  wild  and  inaccessible  that  they  will  be 
among  the  last  reclaimed,  there  are  dim  signs  of  a 
curious  past  which  has  gone  without  monuments 
and  without  a  history. 

The  great  feature  of  the  country  geographically  is 
mountains  —  nothing  but  mountains  ;  not  the  pictur- 
esque and  tree-clad  hills  of  the  East,  but  bold  and 
bare  and  brown,  and  piled  peak  upon  peak,  with  the 
high  plateaux  lying  hidden  between  for  hundreds 
of  silent  and  desolate  miles.  Here  and  there  is  a 
spring,  and  sometimes  a  ragged  cluster  of  huts 
beside  a  few  fertile  acres.  But  on  every  hand  the 
yellow  and  rugged  peaks  cut  a  frowning  outline 
against  a  sky,  the  bluest  and  fairest  in  the  world. 
These  mountains  are,  however,  the  repositories  of 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  145 

immense  and  varied  supplies  of  mineral  wealth, 
mostly  undeveloped,  and  probably  undiscovered. 
And  they  are  not  without  inhabitants,  for  they  are 
the  domain,  the  inaccessible  and  chosen  home,  of  the 
Apache.  None  but  the  Apache  knows  them,  and 
none  but  he  would  be  able  to  find  sustenance  there. 

The  centres  of  life  and  trade  in  the  country  are 
the  small  towns  in  the  great  valley  of  the  Kio  Grande, 
for  miles  along  whose  sandy  and  insect-haunted 
stream  continuous  villages  extend.  There  are  also 
many  settlements  under  the  shadow  and  protection 
of  the  military  posts.  Places  most  remote  and  dan- 
gerous are  naturally  the  location  of  the  military ; 
and  it  is  curious  to  note  how  soon  a  small  settle- 
ment will  grow  up  among  the  mountains  or  beside 
some  tepid  stream  under  the  auspices  of  armed  pro- 
tection. 

It  is  a  land  where  nature  in  all  her  forms  seems 
to  delight  in  coarseness  and  ruggedness.  Every 
shrub  is  thorny,  and  every  undeveloped  twig  has  a 
horny  and  needle-like  point.  The  flowers  are  few 
and  addicted  to  a  universal  yellow  color,  and  trees 
there  are  none  save  those  that  grow  sparsely  on  the 
banks  of  the  streams,  or  stand  dwarfed  and  crooked 
on  the  cliifs.  But  there  is  an  interminable  wilder- 
ness of  mezquit  —  a  thorny  and  ugly  shrub  whose 
beans  furnish  a  staple  article  of  savage  food,  whose 
roots  are  fuel,  and  from  whose  tough  branches  are 
made  the  bows  which  in  the  hands  of  the  Apache  so 
often  send  an  unexpected  and  noiseless  death  to  the 
traveller. 

From    topography,   and    discussion  of  resources 


146  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

and  prospects,  all  of  wliicli  claim  their  share  of  inter- 
est for  the  future,  and  will  be  very  carefully  looked 
after  and  accurately  described,  we  will  turn  to  what 
is  always  a  central  point  of  interest  in  a  strange 
land  —  the  character  and  habits  of  its  people. 

In  the  question  of  the  annexation  of  the  immense 
territory,  a  part  of  which  included  New  Mexico,  to 
the  United  States,  there  were  no  more  uninterested 
people  than  the  ^N'ew  Mexicans  themselves.  They 
are  not  of  that  class  who  of  their  ov/n  accord  long 
for  freedom  and  sigh  for  the  privilege  of  self-govern- 
ment. The  difference  between  that  rule  that  for  so 
many  years  has  been  alternately  a  republic  and  an 
anarchy,  and  one  whose  great  struggle  for  life  was 
fought  out  almost  unheard  on  these  far  shores,  is 
one  upon  which  the  Mexican  never  speculates,  and 
which  it  is  doubtful  if  he  ever  perceived.  To  him, 
educated  as  he  might  be  supposed  to  be  by  more 
than  three  centuries  of  residence  in  the  new  world, 
still  cling  all  the  peculiarities  of  the  Latin  race. 
Everything  around  him  has  changed.  The  power 
that  sent  his  ancestors  across  the  seas  has  long  since 
sunk  under  that  slow  disease  of  which  old  monar- 
chies linger  and  die,  or  perpetually  slumber.  The 
traditions  of  his  country  and  his  race  are  lost  to 
him.  His  land  has  long  since  been  invaded  by  Yan- 
kee dominion.  He  has  seen  the  people  who  are 
here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow — the  weary  and 
disheartened  gold-hunter,  and  the  adventurer  of 
every  name  and  class, —  and  they  have  smitten  him 
with  their  vices  and  taught  him  none  of  their  vir- 
tues.   The  alert  and  vivacious  Saxon  has  established 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  147 

himself  at  the  corner  of  every  street  in  his  chiefest 
villages ;  has  brought  him  into  contact  with  a  new 
language,  which,  however,  he  has  not  learned  to 
speak  ;  has  threatened  him  with  new  ideas  ;  has 
changed  his  ancient  real  and  doubloon  to  paper 
promises  printed  in  green,  and,  withal,  derides  the 
religion  of  his  fathers  and  is  disposed  to  laugh  at  his 
saving  ceremonies.  But  through  all  the  Mexican 
clings  unmoved  to  his  religion,  his  language,  and  his 
social  life.  The  plough  with  which  he  tediously 
prepares  the  soil  is  such  as  was  used  in  the  days  of 
the  patriarchs.  His  oxen  are  yoked  with  thongs  bind- 
ing the  straight  piece  of  w^ood  to  the  horns,  as  was 
done  in  Yirgil's  time.  He  harvests  his  grain  with 
a  sickle  of  crooked  iron,  dull  and  toothless  as  that 
held  by  Ceres  in  a  group  of  statuary.  The  wild  hay 
upon  the  swale  or  mountain-side  he  is  content  to  cut 
with  a  hoe,  and  carry  to  market  upon  the  back  of  a 
diminutive  donkey.  The  irregular,  squalid  and 
straggling  village  in  which  he  lives  is  ancient  beyond 
memory,  and  in  its  crooked  streets  generations  -  of 
his  ancestors  have  lived  and  walked,  and  left  it 
unchanged.  The  bells  which  swing  and  jangle  on 
an  iron  bar  upon  his  church  gable  are  perhaps  pious 
gifts  of  some  dead  and  forgotten  cardinal  of  a  hun- 
dred years  ago.  His  Spanish  ancestor  was  a  man 
remarkable  for  his  highly  cultivated  qualities  of  con- 
servatism, jealousy,  and  love  of  dominion.  His 
descendant  is  remarkable  only  for  placidity.  The 
supreme  content  with  which  the  Mexican  sits  upon 
the  sheep-skin  in  front  of  his  door  and  watches  the 
current  of  passing  life,  the  satisfaction  he  takes  in  a 


148  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

life  which  has  in  it  only  the  humblest  lot  and  the 
hardest  fare,  is  nowhere  else  to  be  found  in  nervous, 
restless,  wandering  America. 

Rain  is,  or  was,  an  unusual  phenomenon  of  this 
arid  country;  and  yet  the  Mexican's  crops  seldom 
fail  him.  The  region  is  checkered  with  innumerable 
ditches,  which  twist  themselves  around  hills  and 
traverse  sandy  valleys,  and  are  bank-full  of  turbid 
water.  His  squalid  little  villages  gain  their  only 
charm  from  rivulets  of  water  trickling  everywhere, 
and 'his  little  farm  glows  with  a  peculiar  greenness 
amid  the  browns  and  grays  that  lie  around  it  in 
mountain  and  rock  and  plain.  He  solved  the  prob^ 
lem  of  irrigation  a  very  long  time  ago,  and  did  what 
the  impatient  Yankee  would  probably  never  have 
done.  He  is  not  an  engineer  any  more  than  the 
beaver  is  one,  and  has  been  so  far  very  successful 
without  any  admeasurement  of  gradients  and  curves, 
and  without  the  use  of  transit  or  level;  so  that  it 
has  often  been  said,  and  more  than  half  believed, 
that  a  Mexican  can  make  water  run  up  hill.  With- 
out the  issue  of  municipal  bonds  or  the  forming  of 
any  joint-stock  companies,  he  seems  to  have  caused 
these  snow-born  mountain  streams  to  follow  him 
into  the  heart  of  primeval  barrenness,  and  has  made 
the  desolation  to  bloom  as  the  rose. 

And  yet  his  plow  is  his  chief  curiosity.  Agri- 
culturally it  is  no  better  than  the  Zulu  adze,  or  the 
squaw's  incompetent  hazel  eradicator.  It  is  just  a 
pole,  with  a  second  one  fastened  at  a  slight  angle 
across  the  end  of  it.  One  end  of  this  shortened 
stick  serves  for  an  upright  handle,  and  the  other 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  149 

end,  sharpened,  is  the  plow.  A  single  pig,  depre- 
dating in  a  meadow,  on  a  wet  afternoon,  will  turn 
up  more  ground,  and  do  it  more  thoroughly  than  a 
New  Mexican  farmer  can  in  two  days.  The  contrast 
between  this  Egyptian  tool  and  the  glittering  and 
elaborate  instrument  used  by  the  Mexican's  neigh- 
bor, the  Kansas  farmer,  is  as  great  as  that  existing 
between  the  clepsydra  with  which  tlie  gentle  Nero 
beguiled  his  leisure  hours,  and  the  modern  eight- 
day  calendar  clock.  And  yet  the  Mexican  is  in  all 
probability  the  more  successful  agriculturist  of  the 
two.  He  knows  ;  he  deals  with  certainties.  No 
farm  journal  will  ever  change  his  views  as  to  soiling 
versus  pasturage,  fall  plowing,  the  profit  of  wheat 
growing,  Hereford  and  Shorthorn,  or  whether  it 
pays  to  hoe  potatoes.  As  to  his  plow,  he  is  not  so 
much  to  blame.  All  Spain  uses  the  same  model  to 
this  day.     So  do  Cuba,  Cliili,  and  Old  Mexico. 

As  might  be  inferred,  the  class  which  comes  first 
and  oftenest  under  the  observation  of  the  traveller 
is  the  common  one  of  laborers  and  burro-drivers. 
But  it  is  impossible  that  there  should  be  no  grada- 
tions in  society  among  people  of  Spanish  blood. 
Here  and  there  through  the  country  are  pretentious 
houses,  whose  doors  are  closed  to  the  common  vil- 
lager, and  whose  Dons  and  Seiioras  hold  themselves 
aloof  from  common  contamination.  These  are  the 
thoroughbreds,  who,  amid  these  strange  surround- 
ings, trace  back  a  lineage  which  is  supposed  to  have 
had  its  origin  among  the  kniglits  and  ladies  of  Arra- 
gon  and  Castile.  In  this  wilderness  exclusiveness, 
what  dreams   of  renewed   Spanish   splendor,  what 


150  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

regret  for  departed  power,  are  indulged  in,  none 
may  know.  But  sometimes  the  necessities  of  life 
bring  about  some  intercourse  with  the  commandant 
of  a  neighboring  post,  or  some  young  army  officer 
gains  admittance  under  cover  of  his  uniform,  and 
then  the  stories  that  reach  the  waiting  military 
world  are  to  the  effect  that  family  greatness,  as 
exemplified  in  these  instances,  is  a  myth  and  a 
flimsy  dream,  and  exclusiveness  a  cloak  beneath 
which  is  concealed  a  kind  of  respectable  poverty. 
Tessellated  marble,  the  carved  balustrade  and  classic 
fountain,  colonnade  and  balcony,  have  all  been  left 
out  of  the  reputed  demi-palace  in  which  the  grandees 
are  spending  their  exile.  It  is  the  same  earthen 
floor,  the  same  unreliable  roof,  the  same  chile-con- 
carne^  the  same  frijoles^  the  identical  clammy 
cheese,  that  give  to  the  villager  his  shelter,  his  fare, 
and  his  supreme  content,  through  all  his  life. 

To  dance  and  to  smoke  seem  to  be  the  two  great 
objects  of  Mexican  life.  In  the  village,  the  sound  of 
the  festive  guitar  is  always  heard,  and  the  dance  is 
well-nigh  continuous.  Not  alone  in  the  evening, 
but  at  midday,  beneath  some  shade,  or  in  an  open 
court-yard,  the  passer-by  stops,  dances  his  fill,  and 
passes  on.  Males  and  females,  on  whatever  errand 
bent,  join  in  the  dance  without  hesitation,  and  quite 
as  a  matter  of  course.  It  is  a  habit  that  has  become 
chronic, — the  first  amusement  a  child  learns,  and 
tlie  last  manoeuvre  his  decrepit  legs  are  made  to 
perform. 

Equally  inveterate  is  the  habit  of  constant  and 
continuous  smoking,  and  the  corn-husk  cigarette  is 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  151 

the  universal  article.  Men  and  women  alike  mingle 
smoke  with  every  employment.  Sefioritas  employ 
the  intervals  of  the  fandango  in  making  and  lighting 
cigarras^  and  the  celerity  with  which  the  Mexican 
manufactures  the  small  roll  of  corn-husk  and 
tobacco,  never  once  looking  at  it,  and  chattering 
and  gesticulating  all  the  time,  is  astonishing. 

The  New  Mexican  village  is  a  complete  nonde- 
script. It  has  not  its  likeness  among  all  the  sordid 
villages  under  the  palms,  or  the  ice-huts  of  shores 
where  shines  the  midnight  sun.  At  the  distance  of 
a  mile  it  has  the  appearance  of  an  unburned  brick- 
kiln. The  sun-dried  adobe  is  the  universal  building 
material,  and  there  is  almost  no  diversity  in  plan, 
pattern,  or  style.  No  attempt  is  made  at  regularity 
in  the  streets,  which  are  simply  narrow  and  zig-zag 
alleys,  intended  only  for  donkey  travel  and  the  con- 
venience of  the  goats.  The  description  of  a  Mexican 
town  invented  by  some  border  humorist,  describes 
them  all:  ''Nine  inches  high,  eighteen  inches  long, 
and  a  mile  and  a  half  wide."  And  this  is  really  a 
description  so  far  as  appearances  go.  The  luxury  of 
a  floor,  of  bedsteads  and  chairs,  is  almost  entirely 
unknown.  Wooden  doors,  stoves,  and  iron  utensils 
are  nearly  so.  Everything  is  of  the  earth,  earthy. 
Beds  and  benches  are  banks  of  earth  against  the 
wall.  Fire-places  are  slender  arches,  in  which  the 
fuel  is  placed  on  end.  Cooking  is  performed  in 
earthenware,  and  the  favorite  and  standard  dish  of 
beans  is  quietly  and  thoroughly  stewed  for  two  or 
three  days  in  an  earthen  jug. 

In  these  villages,  the  sounds  of  industry  heard 


152  '  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

everywhere  else  in  Christendom  are  unknown. 
Til  ere  are  no  shops,  and  every  man  is  his  own  car- 
penter, joiner,  and  shoemaker.  Iron  is  the  great 
necessity  of  civilization,  yet  here  its  use  is  scarcely 
known.  The  only  wheeled  vehicle  the  Mexican 
uses  of  his  own  choice  is  a  cart  in  wJiich  there  is  not 
so  much  as  a  nail ;  and  this  unique  triumph  of  the 
endeavor  to  make  the  ugliest,  heaviest,  and  most 
inconvenient  of  earthly  vehicles,  creeps  with  shriek- 
ing axles  over  the  mountain  roads,  eternally  oilless. 
The  Mexican  mode  of  life  is  almost  entirely 
agricultural,  and  these  villages  are  simply  collections 
of  people  pertaining  to  lands  that  are  tilled  in  com- 
mon. There  is  a  personage  who  is  complacently 
designated  as  M  Indio^  constantly  on  the  alert  for 
spoil,  and  from  whose  incursions  there  is  no  escape 
save  in  union.  Wealth  here  consists  in  a  multitude 
of  goats,  together  with  a  limited  number  of  donkeys 
and  oxen.  In  his  use  and  treatment  of  these  ani- 
mals, the  native  is  as  peculiar  as  he  is  in  other 
respects.  Everything  pays  tribute  to  his  larder  and 
is  included  in  his  resources,  except  those  things  in 
general  use  with  the  majority  of  mankind.  Cows 
are  seldom  milked  and  goats  always  are,  and  even 
sometimes  the  small  j)igs  go  short  of  the  mother's 
milk,  for  which,  however,  they  cry  as  lustily  as  do 
infant  swine  the  world  over.  Pigs,  lean  and  un- 
happy, are  fastened  to  a  stake  by  a  lariat,  while  the 
donkeys  are  confined  in  pens.  Dogs,  innumerable 
and  ill-favored,  swarm  everywhere,  and  domestic 
fowls  roost  among  the  household  utensils  and  lay 
eggs  in  convenient  corners.    Eed  pepper,  the  famous 


NEW  3IEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  153 

chile  Colorado^  the  hottest  sauce  ever  invented,  is  a 
standard  dish,  eaten  by  everybody.  The  manu- 
facture of  common  soap  seems  not  to  be  understood 
or  attempted,  and  its  place  is  supplied  by  a  plant 
that  requires  no  preparation  for  use,  and  that  grows 
wild  in  the  country.  Wood  for  fuel  is  not  cut,  but 
dug,  being  the  huge  roots  of  the  insignificant  but 
universal  mezquit.  Butter  is  almost  unknown,  but 
cheese  from  goat's  milk  is  a  staple.  There  are 
dishes  in  the  Mexican  bill  of  fare  of  which  the  name 
conveys  no  idea,  and  which  were  never  known 
among  the  gourmands  and  epicures.  There  is  a 
beverage  that  is  the  very  concoction  of  Beelzebub 
himself,  made  from  that  gigantic  herb  called  by  us 
the  century  plant.  Acrid  as  turpentine,  fiery  as 
proof-spirits,  its  effect  is  more  like  insanity  than 
drunkenness,  and  its  use  adds  nothing  to  the  gen- 
eral agreeableness  of  the  race  that,  even  when 
sober,  is  the  very  opposite  of  ingenuous. 

What  is  a  country  in  which  the  two  articles 
leather  and  iron  are  not  in  general  use?-  asks  the 
political  economist.  Yet  here  the  utility  of  both 
these  articles  in  e very-day  life  is  practically  un- 
known. Chains,  tires,  straps,  hinges,  braces,  every- 
thing that  requires  lightness,  strength,  and  tough- 
ness, is  made  of  raw-hide;  and,  applied  to  the 
Mexican's  uses,  it  is  nearly  indestructible.  A  dozen 
mules  will  chew  a  long  summer  night  through  upon 
a  single  lariat,  and  leave  it  unscathed  ;  which,  to 
one  accustomed  to  examples  of  the  perseverance  of 
that  sagacious  animal  in  tasks  of  the  kind,  is  sufS- 
cient  testimony.     The  shoes  of  the  Mexican,  made 


154  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

of  a  tliinner  variety  of  the  same  material,  always 
last  until  they  share  the  fate  of  most  articles  of  the 
kind  in  this  country,  and  are  stolen  by  the  coyotes. 
Everything  broken  is  mended  with  hide,  or  not 
mended  at  all,  and  without  it  the  common  operations 
of  life  could  hardly  be  carried  on. 

The  ancient  primitiveness  of  New  Mexican  life  is 
more  particularly  displayed  by  the  dress  of  the  com- 
mon class  than  by  any  other  one  sign.  Stockings 
and  gloves  are  seldom  seen,  any  more  than  they 
are  among  the  peasantry  of  southern  Europe.  Gen- 
erally, neither  sex  is  encumbered  with  more  than 
two  distinct  articles  of  clothing  besides  tlie  head- 
dress, which  last  is  with  both  sexes  as  elaborate  as 
possible.  The  females  wear  a  skirt  and  a  single 
upper  garment,  in  which,  in  maid  and  matron  alike, 
at  all  times  and  places,  is  displayed  a  great  vari- 
ety of  arms,  shoulders,  and  bosoms.  But  no  one 
ever  caught  a  man  without  his  so7nhrero^  or  a  woman 
without  the  rebosa.  The  first-named  is  the  most 
elaborate  article  of  the  hat  kind,  sometimes  pro- 
fusely adorned  with  gold  embroidery.  A  Mexi- 
can's hat  is  a  matter  of  profound  importance,  as 
indicating  his  respectability.  It  costs  four  times 
as  much  as  his  whole  wardrobe  besides,  and  even 
more  than  the  donkey  he  rides.  Shabby  as  he  may 
be  in  other  respects,  his  Sunday  hat  should  insure 
him  the  respect  due  to  a  well-dressed  man. 

The  rebosa  is  a  garment  as  old  as  Spanish  civili- 
zation, once  of  costly  lace,  but  now  a  shawl,  more 
or  less  gay,  ^  and  sometimes  elaborate,  in  which, 
indoors    and     out,     the     Mexican    woman     covers 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  155 

her  modest  head  and  hides  her  captivating  face. 
Shoulders,  arms  and  feet  may  be  bare,  but  all  that 
can  be  seen  of  her  countenance  is  one  eye  and  the 
end  of  her  nose.  Peculiarly  graceful,  as  the  females 
of  her  race  generally  are,  long  habit  renders  her 
especially  adroit  in  the  management  of  her  head- 
dress. Eating,  smoking,  drinking,  talking,  this 
constant  shawl  never  falls,  never  becomes  disar- 
ranged, never  gets  blown  away.  If  ever  in  this 
country  the  traveller  espies  in  the  distance  a  figure 
upon  whose  head  is  neither  hat  nor  shawl,  he  may 
begin  to  study  the  means  of  defence;  for  it  is  no 
friend,  but  an  Apache. 

Leaving  out  of  account  the  goat,  which  seems  to 
be  a  peculiarly  Spanish  animal,  all  the  beasts  of  the 
field  are  of  small  importance  as  compared  with  the 
hurro.  These  are  very  small,  many  of  them  not 
so  large  as  the  smallest  pony,  and  many  a  cuff 
bestowed  in  lieu  of  forage  from  colthood  up,  has 
made  him  even  more  diminutive  than  nature 
intended.  He  is  a  melancholy  brute,  much  given 
to  forlornness  of  countenance  and  leanness  of  flank. 
Appearances  indicate  that,  with  all  his  reverence 
for  sacred  things,  the  Mexican  has  forgotten  that 
the  burro  carries  upon  his  shoulders  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  and  once  played  a  prominent  part  in  the 
most  memorable  ecclesiastical  procession  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  church.  He  is  tied  in  the  street  by 
having  a  blanket  thrown  over  his  eyes,  and  guided 
in  his  wanderings  with  his  master  by  vigorous 
thwacks  on  either  side  of  his  patient  head.  He  is- 
loaded  with  everything  that  can  be  tied  to  him  or 


156  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

hung  upon  liim,  and  in  such  quantity  that  fre- 
quently all  that  can  be  seen  of  him  are  his  four 
little  feet,  and  those  enormous  ears  that  in  all  his 
kind  have  ever  refused  to  be  hidden,  even  by  a 
lion's  skin.  He  is  the  carrier  of  hay,  of  stones, 
of  bales  of  goods,  casks  of  water,  firewood,  and 
sometimes  of  a  whole  family  of  small  children. 
His  owner  has  a  confidence  in  his  powers  of  loco- 
motion that  would  honor  an  elephant.  Burdened 
with  humanity  or  merchaiidise,  faithful  of  disposi- 
tion, frugal  of  habit,  and  tough  of  hide,  the  little 
slave  toils  through  his  hard  life  with  an  uncom- 
plaining patience  that  makes  him  the  martyr  of 
the  brute  creation. 

The  small  commercial  transactions  of  the  native 
remind  one  of  the  shrewd  dealings  of  a  schoolboy. 
Should  the*purchase  of  eggs  become  desirable,  you 
must  be  content  to  buy  them  two,  three,  or  half  a 
dozen  at  a  time.  He  will  expend  an  immense 
amount  of  eloquence  in  attempting  to  convince  the 
purchaser  that  they  are  worth  fifty  cents  per  dozen, 
while  all  the  time  he  is  really  anxious  to  take  half 
that  sum.  Should  milk  be  wanted,  he  will  swear 
by  all  the  saints  that  the  yellow  and  unctuous  fluid 
is  the  milk  of  a  cow,  and  not  that  of  the  goat  from 
whose  udders  it  is  yet  warm.  If  it  be  fowls,  the 
hoarse  old  master  of  the  harem  will  be  extolled  as 
young,  tender,  and  precisely  the  bird  for  Senor's 
supper.  Discovered  in  his  small  rascality,  the  var- 
let  disarms  resentment  by  a  smile  so  bland  and  a 
shrug    so    expressive    that   you    are  convinced   he 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  157 

means  no  harm  in  being  an  inveterate  and  incura- 
ble liar. 

The  female  of  every  race  and  tribe  differs  from 
the  male  by  a  greater  difference  than  is  expressed 
by  masculinity  and  femininity,  and  the  E"ew  Mexi- 
can woman  is  in  many  respects  more  a  woman  and 
less  a  heathen  than  could  be  expected  of  her  from 
her  surroundings.  Always  neat  in  attire  and  cleanly 
in  person  and  surroundings,  comely  and  sometimes 
handsome  in  face  and  figure,  always  trying  to  look 
pretty,  with  a  very  weak  side  for  flattery  and  admi- 
ration, coquettish  in  her  ways  and  suave  in  her  man- 
ners, tender  and  kind  to  those  she  loves,  with  a 
laugh  or  a  tear  always  at  hand,  as  have  her  sisters  all 
the  world  over,  she  is  in  striking  contrast  with  the 
sordidness  of  her  daily  life,  the  surly  uselessness  of 
her  degenerated  kindred,  and  the  habits  of  the 
country  in  which  she  lives.  * 

And  while  all  this  is  true,  there  follows  it  a  truth 
which  is  in  itself  a  problem  for  the  socialist  and  the 
student  of  human  nature.  Stated  as  a  proposition, 
any  form  of  society  not  cemented  by  a  peculiar  and 
almost  indescribable  spirit  of  chastity  is  sure  to  fall. 
Virtue  must  be  regarded,  venerated,  inherited, — 
taught  by  the  schoolmaster,  the  priest,  and  the 
mother.  Such  is  not  the  case  here.  Prostitution 
and  adultery  go  unregarded  and  shameless.  Faith- 
fulness to  the  marriage  vow  is  not  deemed  essential, 
and  the  idea  of  absolute  virtue  seems  not  to  be 
extant.  The  ]S"ew  Mexican  women  present  the 
unusual  spectacle  of  almost  universally  modest 
demeanor  and  gentle   manners,  fulfilling  the  ordi- 


158  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


nary  duties  of  home  and  life  in  a  manner  far  better 
than  could  be  expected  of  them  with  their  training 
and  education,  and  yet  without  an  idea  of  the  mean- 
ing, as  it  is  generally  understood,  of  the  word  virtue. 
The  fact  is,  so  far  as  I  ever  heard,  an  undisputed 
one.  It  is  undoubtedly  a  study  worthy  the  attention 
of  those  who  are  given  to  social  questions,  and  who 
have  attained  to  advanced  ideas  upon  free  love,  affin- 
ities, etc.  The  train  of  social  debauchery  passes  by, 
and  the  grand  result  comes  thundering  after ;  for  a 
lai'ge  proportion  of  the  population  is  more  or  less 
affected  by  that  malady  which  is  one  of  the  direst 
strokes  inflicted  by  the  angel  with  the  flaming  sword 
who  stands  at  the  gate  of  the  garden  of  forbidden 
pleasure. 

No  one  need  go  to  Rome  to  acquire  a  knowledge 
of  what  Catholicism  is  at  home.  The  seat  of  the 
papal  government,  w^itli  the  old  man  of  infallibility 
throned  in  its  midst,  is  not  more  thoroughly  Catho- 
lic than  is  New  Mexico.  The  passion  for  saints, 
relics,  images,  candles,  and  processions  is  universal 
throughout  the  country.  Nearly  all  the  villages  are 
named  "Saint"  somebody,  and  Jesuitism  may  be 
said  to  be  the  established  rule.  The  worst  social 
vices  are  coupled  with  the  deepest  regard  for  every- 
thing that  tastes  of  saintship  and  sacredness.  Every 
hamlet  has  its  church,  or  a  building  that  was  erected 
for  that  purpose.  Each  churchyard  is  a  Golgotha 
which  in  some  instances  has  been  dug  over  many 
times  for  the  purpose  of  burying  the  dead  within 
sacred  precincts.  Exhumed  skulls  and  large  bones 
— a  cheerful  sight  for  those  whose  friends  have  been 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  159 

interred  here  — are  piled  in  a  corner,  or  within  the 
railing  that  surrounds  the  grave  of  some  occupant 
who  has  not  yet  been  ousted  from  that  limited  free- 
hold to  which  the  poorest  of  us  are  supposed  to  be 
entitled  at  last. 

Convenient  appliances  for  the  doing  of  penance 
are  includtrd  in  nearly  every  sacerdotal  outfit.  There 
are  crosses  large  enough  for  practical  utility,  which 
penitents  are  requested  to  carry  far  out  among  the 
hills  and  back  to  atone  for  some  unwonted  sin. 
There  are  whips  and  ropes'  ends  for  much-needed 
flagellation,  and  sometimes  barefoot  pilgrimages  are 
prescribed  to  be  made  through  a  country  where  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find  a  rood  that  is  not  thorny. 
Lighter  sins  are  purged  away  by  lying  all  night  upon 
a  gravestone  —  a  thing  at  the  bare  idea  of  which  the 
soul  of  the  Mexican  qu-akes  within  him  —  or  some- 
times by  bumping  the  head  a  great  many  times  con- 
secutively upon  the  church  steps.  Whether  this 
last-named  exercise  is  a  mere  form,  or  whether  tlie 
saving  thumps  are  given  with  faithfulness  and  vigor, 
manifestly  depends  upon  the  thickness  of  the  skull 
and  the  thinness  of  the  penitent's  conscience. 

T\\Q  fiestas^  or  sacred  days,  come  so  often  and  are 
observed  so  generally  that  the  ill-natured  remark 
has  been  frequently  made  that  they  were  invented  to 
avoid  the  necessity  of  work,  and  lay  the  blame  for 
all  consequent  poverty  upon  the  saints.  The  motley 
procession  that  parades  the  streets  on  these  occa- 
sions, firing  guns,  yelling,  and  singing,  behind  a 
tawdry  image  of  the  Virgin  that  is  usually  arrayed 
in  pink  muslin,  with  a  black  mantilla  and  cotton 


100  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

gloves,  is  one  of  the  raggedest,  noisiest,  and  most 
ludicrous  performances  ever  called  by  the  name  of 
religion.  Yet  this  unique  form  of  the  Christian  faith 
is  not  wanting  in  its  consolations.  There  are  no 
free-thinkers  and  sceptics  here.  Under  its  influence 
the  Mexican  becomes,  if  not  very  courageous  in  dan- 
ger, at  least  hopeful  and  resigned  in  death.  Upon 
those  occasions,  unfortunately  not  infrequent  in 
this  country,  when  his  companions  flee  in  despera- 
tion from  the  Apache,  still  hoping  to  escape  when 
there  is  no  chance  of  life,  he  drops  upon  his  knees 
and  awaits  his  fate,  calmly  dying  w4th  a  prayer  upon 
his  lips  to  that  mother  of  Christ  whose  name  is 
dearer  than  all  others  to  the  Catholic  heart.  Never- 
theless, this  statement  is  a  reminder  that  we  should 
be  thankful  that  the  sturdy  Protestant  is  apt  upon 
such  occasions  to  die  fighting  if  necessary — running 
if  possible.  A  course  of  conduct  the  opposite  of  the 
Mexican's  has  saved  a  great  many  lives  in  these 
lonely  canons,  and  the  desperate  survivors  of  unre- 
corded skirmishes  are  not  impressed  by  the  religious 
aspect  of  the  Mexican's  case. 

The  love  of  isolation,  the  contentment  with  the 
condition  to  which  they  were  born,  the  desire  to 
remain  forever  environed  by  that  changelessness 
that  lias  sat  brooding  over  his  primitive  world  for 
centuries,  which  is  the  characteristic  of  the  Spanish 
peasant  in  the  old  country,  seems  also  to  cling  to 
the  character  of  his  descendants  wherever  they  are 
scattered.  Of  all  the  homes  of  America  this  is 
the  happiest ;  of  all  her  citizens  this  is  the  most 
satisfied.     The  land  that  is  new  to  us  is  very  old  to 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  161 

him,  and  all  his  straggling  villages  belong  to  another 
age  and  have  remained  to  this.  As  he  is  ignorant, 
so  is  he^  careless  of  all  things  outside  of  his  sierra- 
bounded  horizon.  He  cannot  be  awakened.  He 
refuses  to  submit  to  that  pain  which  accompanies 
the  parturition  of  an  idea.  He  does  not  even  under- 
stand that  the  skies  are  changing  over  his  head, 
and  that  he  or  his  children  will  be  called  upon  to 
take  step  with  the  march  of  a  great  people,  or  be 
left  by  the  wayside  forgetting  and  forgot.  Time 
will  bring  about  none  of  its  revenges  for  him;  a 
changed  life  none  of  its  compensations.  There  is 
something  in  race,  and  a  great  deal  in  what  we  call 
"blood."  There  are  five  kinds  of  us  whose  traits 
and  faces  are  known  to  every  school-child.  But 
it  is  a  mistake  that  there  are  not  six.  The 
Spaniard  and  his  children  are  apart  from  all  the 
rest,  for  six  hundred  years  changeless  at  home  and 
abroado  The  land  that  has  come  under  his  domin- 
ion, wherever  it  may  lie,  has  been  from  the  day  of 
his  conquest  under  a  spell  also. 

It  is  so  with  this.  Even  at  this  distance  of  time 
and  space,  with  every  vivid  recollection  blunted,  it 
is  easy  to  recall  the  old,  familiar  summer  afternoon 
in  Mexico.  I  remember  how  the  sefioras  sat  with 
folded  hands  about  the  doors,  and  looked  with  one 
unveiled  and  furtive  eye  upon  the  passers.  Ancient 
and  parchment-faced  crones  chattered  and  smoked 
at  the  corners  of  the  little  dusty  plaza,  and  impish 
boys  played  at  noisy  games  in  the  quiet  street. 
The  cocks  and  hens  sauntered  in  and  out  of  their 
owner's  houses  with  an  air  of  satisfied  ownership, 
H 


162  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

and  venerable  and  bearded  goats  perambulated  the 
crumbling  garden  walls.  Unhappy  pigs  whined  and 
pulled  at  their  tethers,  and  kids  furtively  nibbled  at 
the  tail  of  a  solemn  old  donkey  who  stood  with 
closed  eyes  and  hanging  lip,  asleep.  There  are 
rows  of  white  tents,  and  moving  figures,  and  curling 
blue  smoke,  and  the  distant  laughter  and  careless 
song  of  soldiers.  These  are  they  who  have  come 
from  far,  whose  lives  are  not  the  lives  of  peace,  and 
wlio  seem  the  invaders  of  a  region  that  was  ever 
before  the  land  of  dreams.  I  see  the  white  tops  of 
the  Sierras  gleam  in  the  slant  sunshine,  and  slowly 
the  long  shadows  of  afternoon  creep  over  the  scene, 
and  finally  there  is  nothing  left  in  the  gloom  but  the 
twinkle  of  the  camp-fires,  and  the  outline  of  the  cold 
peaks  against  the  fading  purple  of  the  sky.  There 
is  the  red  glow  of  open  doorways  at  intervals  far 
down  the  village  street,  but  no  sound  save  the  tink- 
ling of  a  guitar,  the  faint  laughter  of  the  dancers, 
and  thin  and  far  the  bleating  of  the  flocks.  All  is 
the  perfect  peace  of  contented  poverty.  All  is  to- 
day, and  there  is  no  to-morrow. 

I  wonder,  as  I  recall  such  scenes,  whether  I  shall 
live  to  see  the  day  when  these  dry  bones  shall  be 
stirred.  The  land  is  already  touched  by  the  farthest 
ripple  of  that  wave  which  slowly  creeps  horizon- 
ward,  burdened  with  life,  energy,  and  change. 
There  already  is  the  camp  of  the  advance  guard 
who  steadily  widen  the  borders  of  that  civilization 
which  is  destined  to  include  within  its  boundaries  a 
hundred  millions  of  freemen. 


VIII. 

''peg;'  the  story  of  a  dog. 

GIT  out'n  hyar,  Peg  Watkins !  Ef  I  come 
thar,  I'll" — and  there  was  a  sound  as  of  a 
broom  ligliting  upon  its  brushy  end,  and  the  handle 
thereof  striking  the  outer  wall  with  a  vigorous 
thwack. 

"IS'ow,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  who  can  this 
much-berated  female  be?"  asked  the  doctor,  as  he 
heard  the  words  and  their  accompanying  emphasis. 
The  doctor  was  the  latest  arrival.  He  was  strange 
to  the  post  and  all  its  surroundings,  having  only  six 
weeks  before  entered  into  a  solemn  contract  with 
the  high  and  mighty  Medical  Director  U.S.  A.  in  the 
city  of  Philadelphia,  to  do  duty  as  acting  Assistant 
Surgeon  at  any  post  to  which  he  might  be  ordered, 
and  to  receive  regularly  therefor  the  sum  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  per  month,  quarters, 
and  a  ration.  The  doctor  was  not  in  delicate  health, 
and  did  not  pretend  to  think  that  the  air  of  the 
frontier  would  be  beneficial  in  restoring  a  constitu- 
tion shattered  by  hard  work  in  his  profession.  This 
was  what  most  of  his  kind  had  reported  of  them- 
selves, together  with  other  details  of  extensive  prac- 
tice and  infiuential  connections,  and  the  regrets  they 
felt  at  leaving  it  all  at  the  demands  of  physical 
debility.     The   brusque    sunburnt    fellows    he   was 

163 


164  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

hereafter  to  associate  with  had  known  many  acting 
assistant  surgeons  in  their  time,  and  were  not  to  be 
imposed  upon.  A  new  doctor  means  to  the  officers 
of  a  frontier  military  post  a  some  one  out  of  whom 
is  at  first  to  be  fairly  had  a  considerable  amount  of 
fun,  and  afterwards,  if  he  should  prove  a  good  fel- 
low, a  new  companion,  considerable  hospital  brandy, 
and  the  service  for  which  a  doctor  is  supposed  to 
exist.  He  is  welcomed  and  treated  accordingly,  and 
with  all  these  various  ends  in  view. 

When  the  doctor  had  alighted  from  the  ambu- 
lance which  had  been  sent  to  bring  him  three  days 
before,  his  appearance  was  as  startling  in  these  soli- 
tudes as  though  he  had  just  escaped  from  another 
world — which,  indeed,  he  in  some  sense  had.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  gray  suit,  wore  neat  brown  gloves, 
and,  to  crown  all,  a  tall  white  hat  of  the  "plug" 
A^ariety,  deeply  and  solemnly  bound  with  black. 
The  air  of  Chestnut  street  and  the  Continental  Ho^el 
seemed  to  emanate  from  him,  as  he  stood  there 
looking  through  the  inevitable  spectacles  at  the 
curious  place  that  was  for  an  indefinite  time  to  be 
his  official  residence.  A  group  of  young  fellows,  all 
clad  in  blue,  and  each  wearing  the  emblem  of  some 
comfortable  military  grade  upon  his  shoulder,  saun- 
tered out  to  welcome  him  from  the  trader's  store. 
"Here  is  Pills,"  said  one.  "Remark  the  tile,"  said 
a  second.  "Bad  health  —  large  practice,"  chimed 
a  third,  epitomizing  the  usual  story.  "Wish  I  was 
where  he  came  from,"  sighed  a  fourth,  "wherever 
it  is."  But  they  ceased  to  laugh  as  he  came  nearer, 
and  greeted  him  with  that  solemn  courtesy  which 


''PEO;'  THE  STORY  OF  A  DOG.  165 

is  the  usual  thing  when  the  object  of  it  has  been 
expected,  and  when  previous  remarks  have  not  been 
of  a  character  to  be  considered  entirely  respectful. 
As  these  really  kind-hearted  fellows  shook  hands 
with  "Pills,"  one  by  one,  the  prospect  for  a  great 
amount  of  fun  out  of  a  greenhorn  did  not  seem  to 
brighten.  The  new  doctor  was  a  kind  of  blonde 
Nazarite,  whose  face,  it  seemed,  had  never  known  a 
razor.  He  was  so  tall  that  the  men  around  him 
looked  up  into  his  open  eyes,  and  felt  for  a  consider- 
able time  thereafter  the  impression  of  a  hand  that 
was  anything  but  flaccid.  "  Bad  health,"  remarked 
Thompson  to  his   companions,   shortly  after,  "bad 

health  be  d d.". 

With  the  air  of  a  man  who  did  not  think  his  sur- 
roundings very  remarkable,  the  doctor  sat  oiling  liis 
gun  when  the  broom  was  thrown  at  Peg  Watkins,  as 
aforesaid.  The  voice  and  the  missile  he  knew  were 
the  personal  property  of  the  quadroon  —  or  a  shade 
darker  —  who  did  the  culinary  offices  of  the  mess. 
But  having  been  there  but  three  days,  he  believed 
he  might  not  yet  have  seen  all  the  female  denizens 
of  the  post.  So,  with  the  remark  mentioned,  lie 
arose  and  went  to  the  door,  in  expectation  of  seeing 
tliis  creature,  who  had  apparently  been  caught  i7i 
flagrante  delicto^  make  a  hasty  exit  from  the  rear  of 
the  premises.  What  he  actually  saw  was  an  immense 
yellow-and-white  dog,  with  bristles  standing  like  the 
spines  of  a  roach  along  her  back,  and  her  head 
turned  aside  with  that  curious  pretence  of  looking 
the  other  way  that  angry  canines  are  apt  to  practise, 
while  the  pendent  lip,  drawn  away  from  her  square 


166  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


jaws  displayed  to  some  antagonist  at  the  kitchen 
door  a  glittering  array  of  ivory.  This  was  the  female. 
The  doctor  laughed  as  he  thought  of  it; — "Peg" 
was  only  a  dog. 

But  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  are  prone  to 
have  an  extensive  acquaintance  among  the  hairy 
beasts  who,  in  all  ages  and  with  all  races,  have  chosen 
to  be  beaten,  spurned,  misunderstood,  and  murdered, 
as  the  humble  friends  and  followers  of  man,  rather 
than  live  in  savage  independence  without  liim.  As 
he  watched  her,  with  an  amused  expression  upon  his 
face,  it  doubtless  seemed  to  him  that  the  shaggy 
creature  was  one  possessed  of  rather  more  than  the 
ordinary  amount  of  canine  character.  "  Come  here. 
Peg,"  he  said,  in  rather  a  conversational  tone,  as  he 
held  out  his  hand.  Peg  was  visibly  disconcerted, 
and  lowered  her  bristles  and  seemed  astonished  at 
hearing  her  name  called  in  a  tone  of  kindness.  She 
crept  humbly  toward  her  new  friend,  and  when  she 
felt  the  touch  of  his  hand  fairly  grovelled  in  the  dust 
before  him,  and  at  last  deprecatingly  followed  him 
into  the  house.  For  a  long  time  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  be  addressed  with  missiles  and  epi- 
thets, and  driven  away  whenever  her  shaggy  form 
appeared  in  a  doorway,  and  had  presumably  stolen 
from  the  butcher  and  the  waste-barrel  whatever  she 
had  to  eat.  And  through  it  all  she  had  lain  in  the 
sally-port  every  night,  watching  and  listening,  the 
most  vigilant  sentinel  of  the  command.  She  was 
an  outcast,  so  entirely  abandoned  that  it  w^as  only 
through  inadvertence  that  she  was  permitted  to  live 
at  all.     As  she  crouched  close  beside  the  wall,  with 


''feg;'  the  story  of  a  dog.     .     167 

forlorn  countenance  and  haggard,  watcliful  eye,  it 
seemed,  had  any  cared  to  notice,  that  she  felt,  with 
such  a  feeling  as  her  human  masters  often  lack,  her 
utter  ignominy  and  disgrace.  E'ow,  in  less  than  two 
hours  after  her  first  acquaintance  with  him,  she  lay 
in  the  twilight  at  the  doctor's  doorway,  with  self- 
conscious  importance,  and  disputed  the  entrance  of 
the 'commandant  himself.  So  are  dogs — and  men — 
wont  to  forget  themselves  upon  a  sudden  change  of 
fortune. 

There  is  a  road,  a  monotonous  and  desolate 
yellow  line  across  the  desert,  which  leads  west- 
ward from  the  Rio  Grande  across  the  southern 
border  of  New  Mexico.  There  is  many  a  long 
day's  journey  upon  it  in  which  there  is  no  water, 
ifo  shade,  no  house,  no  passing  traveller — nothing. 
Over  it  have  passed  hundreds  who  never  saw  the 
end,  and  other  hundreds  who,  if  they  did  see  it, 
never  cared  to  return.  Over  plateaux  where  the 
tall  cacti  stand  like  ghosts,  through  canons  Indian- 
haunted  and  lined  with  graves  and  crosses,  the 
melancholy  path  stretches  for  hundreds  of  lone- 
some miles.  Yet  it  does  not  want  wayfarers.  Here, 
through  the  summer,  thousands  of  long-horned 
Texas  cattle  drag  their  gaunt  limbs  along  on  the 
journey  to  California.  Here  is  the  man  whose  des- 
tiny it  is  to  wander  from  place  to  place  through  life 
unsatisfied,  surrounded  by  his  dozen  white-haired 
and  boggle-eyed  urchins  who  seem  to  have  been  born 
b}^  the  roadside,  and  ever  accompanied  by  a  woman 
whose  most  serious  troubles  are  cured  by  a  pipe, 
and  whose  amazing  fecundity  seems  to  be  no  bar 


168  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

to  constant  wandering.  Sometimes,  too,  there  are 
those  who  have  a  more  definite  purpose  in  their 
journeyings,  and  who  escape  from  the  ties  of  family 
and  the  law,  and  the  manifold  difficulties  of  civiliza- 
tion and  old  associations.  But  to  all  there  is  the 
same  fatuous  certainty  of  something  better  beyond, 
the  same  proneness  to  underestimate  the  length  and 
peril  of  the  road  and  the  hard  facts  that  lie  at  the 
end.  But  it  is  one  of  the  roads  of  destiny,  and  by 
it  do  southern  Arkansas,  Texas,  and  other  of  the 
southwestern  states  empty  themselves  of  their  more 
unstable  population. 

Some  months  before  the  doctor's  arrival  at  the 
post,  several  families  of  such  had  encamped  at  the 
spring,  whose  semi-circular  disc  of  stone  opened  the 
tepid  waters  to  the  light  a  few  hundred  yards  from 
the  southern  w^all  of  the  military  enclosure.  The 
circumstance  was  not  an  unusual  one,  and  would 
have  attracted  no  attention  had  not  the  party  stayed 
so  long  and  been  possessed  of  unusual  attractions. 
They  wanted  an  escort  of  soldiers,  and  waited  for  the 
return  of  a  scouting  party,  so  that  troops  might  be 
spared  them  —  provided  some  other  excuse  for  not 
furnishing  a  guard  did  not  meantime  occur  to  the 
mind  of  the  commandant.  The  men  were  well- 
dressed  and  independent,  and  the  women  were  some 
of  them  comely  and  all  of  them  quite  exclusive. 
There  was  one  tall  girl,  who  attracted  universal 
attention  as  well  on  account  of  her  beauty  as  her 
demure  reserve,  who  turned  a  cold  eye  upon  Thomp- 
S(m  himself,  who  in  his  day  had  been  (the  word  of 
a  soldier  must  be  taken  in  this  matter)  a  famous 


peg:'  the  story  of  a  dog,  169 


woman-tamer.  Tuck,  the  butclier's  man  —  contract- 
or's agent,  lie  designated  himself — had,  with  cosmo- 
politan impudence,  visited  the  new-comer's  camp  the 
very  first  evening,  and,  contrary  to  all  his  expecta- 
tions, had  fallen  des23erately  in  love  with  this  young 
woman,  and  would  have  been  quite  willing  to  forego 
all  other  attractions  and  sacrifice  himself  for  her 
sake,  but  when  he  ventured  upon  his  first  remark  to 
her,  she  not  only  failed  to  reply,  but  turned  to  the 
man  who  seemed  to  be  her  father  or  her  guardian 
and  addressed  to  him  a  question  which  left  Tuck  in 
no  uncertainty  as  to  the  rejection  of  his  overtures. 
"  Miss  Margaret "  the  rest  of  them  called  her;  and 
though  thereafter  Tuck  called  her  "stuck  up,"  he 
nevertheless  worshipped  Miss  Margaret  from  afar. 
She  "didn't  do  nothin',"  he  said,  and  he  noticed 
that  when  she  was  not  reading  a  book  whose  bind- 
ing suggested  a  difi'erent  kind  of  literature  from  that 
to  which  he  was  accustomed,  she  sat  apart,  with  her 
uncommonly  white  hands  in  her  lap,  and  looked,  as 
he  was  pleased  to  imagine,  very  unhappy  indeed. 
Had  this  most  unconscionable  ass  but  known  that 
she  was  only  angry,  and  that  even  her  anger  never 
touched  his  most  distant  neighborhood,  he  would 
have  been  sorely  puzzled  to  know  how  to  account 
for  it. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days  it  began  to  be  sus- 
pected that  the  young  lady  held  no  relationship, 
unless  a  very  distant  one,  with  any  of  her  party.  The 
gallant  and  polite  officers  of  the  post  were  treated 
by  her  with  some  consideration,  and  they  acutely 
made  this  important  discovery :   Thompson  averred 


170  FRONTIER  AR3IY  SKETCHES. 

that  she  was  a  well-educated  northern  girl,  who  had 
gone  to  the  south  as  a  school-mistress,  and  had  been 
jilted  by  some  person  to  the  said  acute  joung  officer 
entirely  unknown.  He  acknowledged  that  she  had 
not  told  him  so,  or  in  any  way  given  him  her  confi- 
dence. But  the  Thompsons  are  all  shrewd  people. 
When  asked  if  she  intended  making  a  residence  in 
far-off  California  she  said  she  did  not  know,  and 
hinted  that  she  did  not  care.  The  longer  the  party 
stayed  the  more  imminent  became  the  prospect  of  a 
sensation  of  some  'kind,  on  account  of  this  fair- 
haired  and  blue- eyed  young  woman,  who  seemed 
strangely  out  of  place  amid  her  surroundings,  and 
who  had  captivated  all  hands  down  to  the  butcher's 
man.  There  had  never  passed  through  these  regions 
a  traveller  upon  this  most  desolate  of  roads,  one 
whose  footsteps  were  so  dainty,  whose  skirts  and 
collars  were  so  preternaturally  white,  and  who  coiled 
her  hair  round  her  head  with  so  much  feminine 
skill.  But  she  was  ''queer."  She  was,  in  a  sense, 
homeless  among  her  companions.  Disregarding 
the  supposed  danger  from  prowling  Apaches,  she 
took  long  walks  alone ;  and  Tuck  subsequently 
stated  that  iie  once  saw  her  far  down  towards  the 
canon,  sitting  upon  a  bowlder  in  the  moonlight, 
apparently  '^tbinkin',''  ^^md  that  beside  her,  alert 
and  watchful,  sat  her  sole  companion  on  such  occa- 
sions, an  ugly  yellow  dog,  who  had  always  seemed 
to  have  an  especial  dislike  to  the  contractor's  agent. 
One  night,  after  tattoo,  the  man  with  whose  fam- 
ily Miss  Margaret  seemed  somehow  connected  came 
breathless  to  the  commandant  with  the   statement 


''PEG,''  THE  STORY  OF  A   DOG.  171 

that  she  had  "gone  walkin'  "  early  in  the  evening, 
and  had  not  returned.  JN'or  did  she  ever  return. 
The  most  accomplished  trailer  of  the  post  failed  to 
account  for  the  manner  of  her  taking  oif.  After  a 
day  and  a  night  of  fruitless  search,  all  further  efforts 
were  abandoned  as  useless,  and  thereafter  the  theme 
was  avoided,  as  a  horrible  reminiscence  whose  every 
detail  was  sufficiently  expressed  by  the  hated  word, 
'vApaches."  Thompson  was  most  severely  afflicted, 
and  much  exercised  in  the  necessary  concealment  of 
a  grief  which  this  time  was  not  one  of  that  shrewd 
young  officer's  pretences. 

But  had  she  indeed  been  captured  by  the  Apa- 
ches ?  Had  her  reckless  walks  ended  at  last  iu 
sudden  capture,  and  a  fate  worse  than  death  ?  Mari- 
ano, the  scout,  said  not;  and  he  knew.  He  declared 
that  there  had  never  been  an  Indian  near  the  emi- 
grants' camp,  nor  between  there  and  the  canon,  for 
three  moons.  Men  would  no  doubt  sometimes  arrive 
at  conclusions  more  nearly  correct  if  they  would 
study  probabilities  less  and  improbabilities  more. 
If  the  commandant  had  been  asked  if  there  were 
any  other  means  by  which  a  young  lady  might  be 
spirited  away,  he  would  have  said  unhesitatingly 
that  there  were  not.  He  would  have  been,  uncon- 
sciously all  the  time,  thinking  of  the  lost  one  as  a 
woman.  ]\fen,  here  as  elsewhere,  go  where  they 
list,  and  there  is  little  thought  of  how  or  of  when 
they  may  choose  to  return. 

Every  Friday  night,  at  an  hour  when  the  wilder- 
ness itself  was  asleep,  there  came  rattling  down  the 
hill   from    the    eastward   a   canvas-covered   vehicle 


172  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

drawn  bj  four  vicious  little  mules.  The  officer  of 
tlie  day  often  heard  the  driver's  coyote-bark,  by 
means  of  whicli  signal  he  and  all  his  fellows  are 
accustomed  to  arouse  the  sleepy  officials  of  the 
desert  post-offices  as  they  approach.  The  sentinel, 
as  he  walked  back  and  forth  before  the  sally-port, 
watched  it  as  the  wheels  ground  over  the  gravel  at 
the  door,  and  heard  the  leathern  sound  of  the  falling 
mail  bag.  A  sleepy  word  or  two  between  the  driver 
and  the  trader's  clerk,  the  shutting  of  a  door,  the 
renewed  grinding  of  wheels,  and  the  overland  stage 
had  come  and  gone,  so  like  a  border  phantom  that 
it  seemed  doubtful,  when  the  day  came  again,  if 
such  an  institution  existed.  Sometimes  there  were 
passengers,  but  not  often.  Occasionally  a  desperate 
man,  whose  absolute  necessities  called  him  across  a 
continent,  loaded  himself  with  weapons,  and  ran 
the  gauntlet  of  discomfort  and  danger  in  the  over- 
land. People  wondered  sometimes  why  or  how  the 
line  was  run  at  all.  The  doubt  was  hardly  a  perti- 
nent one.  Some  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars 
for  a  semi-weekly  mail  service,  coupled  with  an 
agreement  that  the  line  must  be  prepared  to  carry 
passengers,  will  accomplish  wonders. 

The  man  who  reported  Miss  Margaret's  taking-off 
to  the  commandant  confessed  that  she  was  not  in 
any  way  related  to  him  or  to  his  family;  that  she 
became  connected  with  them  in  eastern  Texas  by 
liaving  been  a  teacher  in  his  neighborhood.  She 
had  money,  he  said,  was  "offish  an'  book-larned," 
had  started  with  him  for  California  because  she  had 
some  concealed  purpose  in  going,  and  added  that 


''PEG,''  THE  STORY  OF  A  DOG.  173 

"  she  never  tuk  to  liim  or  liis  faniily  much,  an' 
war  a  leetle  quar  in  her  ways."  He  prudently  for- 
got to  state  that  on  the  night  of  her  departure  she 
had  told  the  whole  partly  distinctly  that,  in  her 
opinion,  they  would  never  see  California,  and  in 
terse  and  elegant  terms  expressed  her  opinion  of 
the  slowness  of  Texans  in  general,  and  of  these  in 
particular.  He  also  failed  to  state  that  she  had 
taken  with  her  a  travelling  bag,  but  had  left  behind 
her  an  immense  trunk,  which,  with  all  its  unknown 
finery,  might  be  regarded  as  a  legacy  to  his  own  not 
uncomely  daughters.  In  fine,  Miss  Margaret's 
guardian  lied ;  and  the  day  following  left  the  post 
with  all  his  belongings,  going  westward. 

More  than  a  week  after  these  events  had  occurred, 
and  when  the  tender  hearts  of  the  gentlemen  of  the 
garrison  had  assumed  that  shade  of  subdued  regret- 
fulness  for  Miss  Margaret's  fate,  that  is  said  to  be 
characteristic  of  the  sex,  early  one  morning  while 
Tuck  was  plying  his  vocation  at  the  slaughter-pen, 
he  was  surprised  by  the  apparition  of  an  immense 
yellow-and-white  mastiff,  gaunt,  tired,  and  almost 
starved,  who  came  crouching  toward  him,  urged  by 
hunger,  and  mutely  begging  for  the  merest  taste  of 
the  raw  meat  in  which  the  churl  was  at  work.  He 
was  greatly  astonished,  for  he  had  no  great  difficulty 
in  recognizing  Miss  Margaret's  surly  guardian.  He 
paused,  with  his  bloody  hands  upon  his  hips,  and  as 
he  looked,  conceived  a  new  hatred  of  the  dog  for 
her  mistress'  sake.  ''You  kin  come  back,  kin  you? 
Drat  your  ugly  eyes  !"  and  he  threw  a  stone  at  her. 
The  creature  yelped,  and  limped  away  toward  the 


1Y4  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

sally-port,  too  tired  and  hungry  to  even  show  lier 
teeth  to  that  other  cur  who  refused  a  bone  to  a 
starving  dog.  Wlien  he  saw  her  again,  he  said : 
"There  goes  that  Peg."  This  was  very  brilliant 
irony  on  the  part  of  Tuck,  and  he  laughed  a  good 
deal  to  himself  at  the  thought  that  the  friendless 
dog  should  hereafter  bear  what  he  chose  to  con- 
sider the  nickname  of  her  lost  mistress.  Then, 
because  the  name  of  Miss  Margaret's  whilom  pro- 
tector was  understood  to  have  been  Watkins,  the 
servant,  wdth  unconscious  drollery  peculiar  to  her 
kind,  had  called  her  "Peg  Watkins"  the  evening 
she  became  the  doctor's  friend. 

As  time  passed,  the  doctor  dissipated  all  the 
theories  upon  which  the  officers  of  the  post  had  con- 
structed their  conclusions  as  to  what,  as  a  contract 
doctor,  he  ought  to  be.  He  accommodated  himself 
to  surroundings  that  might  well  be  considered 
curious,  in  an  hour's  time.  He  seemed  to  have 
travelled  much,  knew  his  fellow-men  very  well, 
and  was  cool  in  all  emergencies.  He  was  not 
afraid  of  sun  or  rain,  was  a  keen  hunter,  and  an 
excellent  companion,  and  could  tell  stories  like 
Othello.  He  seemed  to  know  the  miner  of  Cali- 
fornia, the  ranchman  of  Texas,  and  spoke  familiarly 
of  Paris  and  Rome.  In  a  word,  he  was  very  far 
from  being  as  "green"  as  his  companions,  having 
observed  carefully  the  habits  of  many  doctors,  had 
expected.  But  there  was  something  about  the  man 
that,  after  all,  *tliey  could  not  quite  understand. 
Thompson  thought  he  was  "curious"  in  that  he 
seemed  to  have  no  earthly  interest  in  those  crea- 


"P^(7,"  THE  STORY  OF  A   DOG.  ITS 


tares  who  were  ever  to  Thompson  so  near  and  yet 
so  far.  He  never  spoke  of  women  at  all.  He 
seemed  never  to  have  had  an  affair.  He  never 
amused  or  entertained  his  auditors  with  stories  of 
past  flirtations.  One  night,  not  long  after  his 
arrival,  the  presence  of  the  outcast  mastifl*  at  his 
feet  suggested  to  some  one  of  his  companions  the 
story  of  the  lost  lady  — Thompson  alluded  to  her 
poetically  as  "the  loved  and  lost," — and  it  was 
added  that  her  name  among  her  ill-assorted  friends 
sounded  like  a  schoolma'm's  —  "Miss  Margaret." 
The  doctor  looked  up  quickly,  relapsed  into  thought- 
ful silence,  and  without  a  single  comment  upon  the 
sad  story,  began  presently  to  talk  of  something  else. 
In  other  respects  also  did  they  think  him  rather 
queer;  for  like  many  men  of  his  kind,  he  liked 
very  well  to  be  left  alone.  Often,  accompanied  by 
Peg,  he  passed  the  sentinel  at  midnight,  coming 
home  from  some  purposeless  wandering.  He  was, 
it  seemed,  not  unaccustomed  to  life  on  the  frontier. 
Only  a  year  ago  he  had  visited  California,  and 
within  a  few  months  had  been  in  Texas.  He  did 
not  allude  to  anything  as  the  specific  object  of  his 
wanderings,  but  he  left  the  impression  upon  his 
listeners  that  he  was  either  running  away  from,  or 
chasing,  some  fleeting  shadow  round  the  world. 
Often,  far  beyond  the  midnight,  when  tlie  officer  of 
the  day  passed  in  his  rounds,  he  could  see  the  lonely 
man  sitting  in  the  lamplight,  and  Peg  crouched 
watchfully  in  the  open  window. 

The   understanding   between    the  brute  and  the 
man  was  so  remarkable  as  to  attract  some  attention. 


176  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

Wherever  tlie  doctor's  footsteps  led  liim,  the  dog 
awkwardly  waddled  behind.  Peg  was  now  clean, 
well-fed,  and  carried  her  content  to  the  extreme  of 
being  somewhat  saucy.  Her  master  was  her  world, 
and  she  cared  for  nothing  and  no  one  else.  The 
inhabitants  of  the  little  community  might  pat  her  on 
the  head  if  they  would,  and  she  reciprocated  by 
hardly  so  much  as  the  wagging  of  her  tail.  Hun- 
dreds of  times  her  name  was  called  from  open  doors 
and  across  the  parade-ground.  She  scarcely  so 
mucli««as  turned  her  head,  and  usually  walked  with 
great  dignity  in  the  opposite  direction.  All  this 
may  have  been  a  kind  of  negative  revenge  for  past 
indignities;  for  she  had  the  general  good  at  heart. 
Often  in  the  watches  of  the  night  her  bark  came 
faintly  back  from  the  surrounding  hills.  There  was 
a  legend  that  she  never  slept.  But  she  did  —  at 
midday,  upon  the  doctor's  bed. 

The  saying  that  time  at  last  makes  all  things 
even,  is  only  poetry,  which  is  often  far  from  true. 
But  there  was  a  notable  instance  in  which  the  state- 
ment was  fairly  demonstrated.  Tuck  possessed  two 
curs  as  ugly  as  himself,  one  of  which  was  of  Peg's 
own  sex.  Early  one  morning,  as  the  butcher  went 
to  his  avocation,  accompanied  by  his  two  compan- 
ions, they  three  met  Peg  walking  with  great  stateli- 
ness  beside  the  w^all.  With  his  dogs  beside  him. 
Tuck  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  utter  a 
vicious  '•^  sicJc^m!  ^^  With  much  more  valor  than 
judgment,  the  two  dogs  rushed  to  the  onset.  If  Peg 
was  frightened,  she  made  no  sign  of  it ;  and  quietly 
taking  tlie  female  by  the  neck,  with  one  great  shake 


''PEG,''  THE  STORY  OF  A  DOG.  17T 

she  covered  her  white  breast  with  her  enemy's  blood. 
A  few  minutes  after,  she  appeared  at  her  master's 
bedside,  apparently  unconscious  of  the  stain.  After- 
wards, when  told  of  the  outrage  by  Tuck,  the  doctor 
called  his  grim  friend  to  liim,  and,  as  he  patted  her, 
remarked:  "Margaret,  did  you  kill  the  meat-man's 
dog?"  And  the  "meat-man"  went  away  convinced 
that  dogs  and  men  may  sometimes  have  a  singular 
mutuality  of  interests. 

The  long  summer  passed,  and  autumn  came  with 
its  nights  of  frosty  sparkle  and  moonlit  glory.  The 
little  walled  post,  with  its  bare  parade-ground  and 
its  monotonous  routine,  dulled  by  daily  use,  seemed 
to  grow  irksome  to  the  doctor.  It  was  not  strange 
that  he  liked  better  to  wander  through  the  long 
evenings  among  the  near  foot-hills,  accompanied 
always  by  Peg.  His  associates  had  long  since 
become  accustomed  to  his  vagaries,  and  paid  small 
heed  to  his  absence,  as  they  whiled  the  dull  night 
away  with  social  games  at  cards  — -  chiefly  that  cap- 
tivating one  that  for  some  unexplained  reason  has 
been  named  "poker."  True,  they  had  concluded 
long  ago  that  there  was  "something  on  the  man's 
mind,"  and  guessed,  with  a  nearness  to  the  truth 
they  hardly  suspected,  that  the  position  of  "contract 
doctor"  at  a  frontier  post  was,  to  a  man  of  his 
attainments,  little  more  than  an  excuse  to  rid  him- 
self of  himself. 

One  night  he  lay  on  his  back  by  the  roadside,  a 

gaunt  cactus  lifting  its  thin  spire  at  his  feet,  and  Peg 

beside  him,  looking  at  the  stars.    His  thoughts  were 

dreamy,  but  they  were  busy.     This  refuge  in  the 

13 


178  FRONTIER  AR3IY  SKETCHES. 

wilderness  was  not  satisfactory.  Go  where  he  would, 
he  could  not  rid  himself  of  a  thought  that  had  been 
with  him  so  long  that  it  was  a  part  of  him.  He  had 
lain  there  three  hours,  and  in  all  that  time  had  not 
evolved  anj  new  idea  as  to  his  further  profitable 
disposal  of  that  troublesome  person,  himself.  He 
had  already  resigned  his  appointment,  and  ques- 
tioned within  himself  where  he 'should  go.  "If  I 
could  only  find  her,"  he  ejaculated,  ''I  would  start 
for  China." 

The  moonlight  on  his  watch-dial  showed  it  was 
one  o'clock.  The  silence  of  the  wilderness  seemed 
to  close  around  him  impenetrably.  Everything  was 
asleep.  The  social  game  at  the  trader's  store  was 
undoubtedly  played  out,  and  he  wondered,  as  he 
walked  slowly  homeward,  whither  the  ofiScer  of  the 
day,  whose  business  it  was  to  be  up,  had  betaken 
himself.  But  he  thought  he  heard  afar  off  the 
sound  of  Avheels  amid  the  rocks  of  the  canon. 
When  he  arrived  at  the  trader's  store,  the  sound 
grew  louder,  and  he  paused,  out  of  mere  wakeful- 
ness and  curiosity,  until  the  phantom  mail,  which  so 
seldom  brought  him  any  letters,  should  come.  Soon 
the  four  little  black  heads  were  dancing  along  above 
the  roadside  chaparral,  and  the  driver,  his  hand 
upon  his  mouth,  had  begun  to  utter  his  hideous 
coyote-calls.  Jehu  seemed  merry  ;  for  the  mail  was 
from  the  west,  the  worst  was  passed,  and  home  and 
rest  were  only  twenty  miles  away.  That  is  a  long 
distance  upon  which  to  congratulate  oneself  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  moody  physician 
thought;   but  happiness  is  a  merely  relative  terra. 


''PEG,''  THE  STORY  OF  A  DOG.  179 

A  strap  was  broken,  and  while  the  driver  mended 
it,  and  the  sleepy  clerk  stood  at  the  door,  Peg 
inspected  the  wheels,  the  boot,  and,  cautiously,  the 
heels  of  the  mules.  Presently  she  seemed  strangely 
attracted  by  something  inside.  She  arose  upon  her 
hinder  legs,  and  with  her  paws  upon  the  broken 
window-frame,  struggled,  yelping,  to  climb  higher. 
This  amazed  the  doctor,  and  he  also  came  near. 
Then  a  feminine  voice  was  heard  inside,  and  a  hand 
appeared  in  the  moonlight,  which  the  dog  devotedly 
licked.  Presently  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  a 
somewhat  muffled  face  appeared,  and  before  the 
clumsy  efforts  of  the  dog  could  effect  an  entrance, 
her  shaggy  neck  was  clasped  in  some  one's  arms, 
and  audible  kisses  rained  upon  her  hairy  face.  "Oh, 
you  dear  old  dog!  where  did  you  come  from?" 
were  words  the  doctor  thought  he  heard.  It 
occurred  to  liim  as  being  rather  an  eccentric  pro- 
ceeding also.  He  went  to  the  window,  and  said 
"Peg, —  old  girl, "and  Peg  thumped  her  large  tail 
upon  the  floor,  and  turned  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  displayed  the  whole  immense  length  of  her 
tongue,  and  seemed  agonized  between  two  great 
happinesses. 

Then  occurred  the  following  conversation,  inter- 
rupted by  little  gasps  and  swallo wings  : 

"Doctor — Daniels  !    Who — who — My  goodness" 
(evidently  recovering),  "  is  it  you  ?  " 

"ISTow,  Maggie"  (somewhat  huskily  and  leaning 
very  far  into  the  vehicle),  "  where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"Everywhere,    sir"    (entirely    recovered);    "to 
California  last." 


180  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

"  Well,  but  where  ?  —  how  ?  " 

''This  is  what  I  have  to  say  to  you,  Ed,"  —  and 
the  lady's  voice  grew  strong  in  its  tone  of  injury, — 
'^ihat  no  matter  how  you  or  I  came  here,  or  where 
from,  you  must  go  with  me  here  and  now,  or  I  shall 
just  get  out  and  stay  here,  as  I'm  sure  I've  a  right 
to  do.  And  then  I've  been  so  far,  and  am  so  tired, 
and  —  and  —  I  think  I  must  be  dreaming,  after  all." 
And  then  this  Amazon  broke  down,  and  began  to 
cry. 

The  doctor  never  looked  more  earnest  at  the 
bedside  of  a  very  doubtful  case  than  he  did  at  this 
moment.  He  took  off  his  hat  solemnly,  and  wiped 
his  forehead,  looking  down  at  the  ground  as  though 
he  had  lost  something  there.  With  all  that  he  had 
been  looking  for  so  long,  there  in  the  shabby  vehi- 
cle, —  with  what  he  had  been  willing  to  go  to  China 
for  there  within  arm's  length, — he  stood  fighting 
his  pride  outside.  Then  a  hand  came  forth  and 
touched  his  shoulder,  and  a*voice  said  "I'm  very 
sorry,  Ed;"  and  immediately  Doctor  Edward  Dan- 
iels turned  resolutely  and  climbed  into  the  coach. 
It  would  seem  that  after  so  many  years  of  estrange- 
ment and  regret,  after  a  thousand  maledictions  by 
each  upon  all  the  stars  and  fates  that  preside  over 
matrimony,  after  a  trial  by  each  of  every  quack 
medicine  for  unhappiness  that  human  nature  is  wont 
to  suggest  to  itself,  it  only  required  four  little  words 
to  do  the  business  ;  and  it  was  the  woman,  of  course, 
who  said  them.  He  left  everything  behind,  caring 
nothing  for  the  morning  astonishment  of  his  late 
associates  at  the  post,  for  the  criticisms  of  his  ene- 


''PEG,''  THE  STORY  OF  A  DOG.  181 

mies,  or  the  regrets  of  his  friends.  He  was  very 
glad  to  take  up  again  the  burden  of  a  love  that 
had  been  wilful,  capricious  and  exacting,  which  had 
defied  him  twenty  times  in  a  day,  which  was  noth- 
ing that  he  would  have  it  to  be,  but  which  was 
nevertheless  the  love  of  a  beautiful  woman  whose 
slave  he  was  and  wished  to  remain. 

Jehu  had  been  listening  and  chuckling  to  him- 
self. "I  reckon  she's  got  him  now,"  he  said. 
^'Hudup  thar!"  and  he  brought  the  long  whip  to 
bear  with  a  keen  snap  under  the  off  leader's  traces. 

The  dumb  friend  lay  at  inconvenient  length  along 
tlie  bottom  of  the  coach,  quite  content  to  have  her 
wrinkled  neck  used  as  an  imperious  lady's  footstooL 
"I'm  sure  it's  all  very  curious,"  said  she,  "and  her 
name  is  not  Peg  at  all.  And  Ed, — there  were  a 
great  many  nice  things  in  that  trunk.  To  think  of 
the  Watson  girls  wearing  my  dresses  !  —  the  hateful 
things." 

"The  Watson  girls  are  very  fortunate  if  some 
Apache  squaw  is  not  wearing  them  by  this  time," 
said  the  doctor  ;  "and  you  —  well,  you  are  equally 
lucky  that  the  same  amiable  savages  did  not  get 
your  back  hair,  especially  when  you  consider  the 
extraordinary  beauty  of  it ;  "  and  the  doctor  felt 
obliged  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  whether  the  brown 
coils  were  yet  his  by  placing  a  rather  large  hand 
upon  the  lady's  head. 

"I  should  not  have  cared  if  they  had  —  at  one 
time,"  said  she. 

Thompson  strenuously  asserted  for  a  long  time 
that  he   suspected   Miss   Margaret   was   a   married 


182  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


lady.  "Now,  I  never  knew  a  girl  to  act  just  so," 
he  said;  "  at  least,  not  to  me.  Tliey  usually  tumble 
to  the  racket  sooner  or  later,  and  —  " 

But  here  the  lieutenant  was  assailed  with  jeers  and 
laughter  to  the  extent  that  he  rose  in  a  huif,  and 
walked  out  of  the  room  —  the  back  room  at  the 
trader's  store. 


IX. 
A   GOOD   I]SrDIAN. 

IF  the  Lieutenant  General  of  the  United  States 
Army  ever  made  the  epigrammatic  remark  that 
has  been  attributed  to  him,  that  "the  only  good  In- 
dian is  a  dead  one,^'  it  is  probable  that  he  was  not 
at  the  moment  thinking  of  that  lone  and  solitary 
variety  of  the  Child  of  Nature  in  the  West  who  has 
never  given  the  military  any  trouble. 

It  is  true  that  the  Pueblo  is  only  an  Indian  by 
the  general  classification  ;  but  it  is  hoped  that  the 
reader  will  not  therefore  prematurely  imagine  that 
he  is  again  to  be  taken  by  a  button  and  made  to 
understand  the  author's  views  of  the  rights,  wrongs, 
and  general  character  of  the  dun-colored  Ishmaelite 
who,  with  no  history  of  his  own  making,  has  entered 
so  largely  and  so  falsely  into  American  literature. 
The  Pueblo  is  included  among  the  tribes  only  by  a 
mistake  made  in  the  beginning,  and  perpetuated 
tlirough  time.  There  is,  indeed,  no  distinction  of 
race  more  jDcrceptible  than  that  which  exists  between 
the  patient  and  home-loving  farmer  of  the  Pio 
Grande,  and  the  lawless  freebooter  who  from  time 
immemorial  has  been  his  inveterate  enemy. 

Those  long,  low,  grass-grown  mounds  that  lie  in 
sequestered  valleys  and  beside  streams  in  all  the 
nooks  and  corners  of  'New  Mexico  and  Arizona  are 

183 


184  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

all  that  now  remain  to  mark  the  outlines  of  those 
cities  whose  names  are  long  since  forgotten,  and 
whose  last  burgher  died  four  or  five  misty  centuries 
ago.  Kor  were  these  their  only  or  most  enduring 
dwellings.  They  hewed  out  of  the  living  rock  of 
the  canon's  sheer  walls,  cities  for  the  shelter  of 
many  thousand  souls.  They  once  peopled  these 
regions,  and  hundreds  of  miles  to  the  northward  of 
them,  with  a  race  who  lived  under  a  common  head, 
who  practised  many  of  the  arts  of  civilization,  who 
builded  for  permanence  and  beauty,  who  erected 
temples  and  monuments,  who  tilled  the  soil,  who 
owned  the  ties  of  duty,  family,  and  religion,  and 
whose  ancestors,  still  more  remote  and  far  than  all 
these  desolate  remains,  anticipated  the  oldest  legends 
of  discovery,  and  crossed  the  Straits  of  Behring 
before  the  Norsemen  or  Portuguese  had  dreamed  of 
another  world.  The  Pueblo  is  the  small  remainder 
of  that  people  who  preceded  all  that  we  call  Ameri- 
can antiquity,  and  who  were  more  brave  and  more 
prosperous  than  any  of  the  tribes  and  races  that 
have  occupied  the  land  since  they  passed  away  as  a 
people.  You  might  not  suspect  it,  as  you  see  him 
in  his  humble  village,  and  engaged  in  his  patient 
toil.     He  is  the  pathetic  last  man. 

In  contradistinction  from  the  Indian,  as  we  know 
the  man  usually  meant  by  that  term,  the  Pueblo  is 
purely  a  farmer,  and  has  been  so  from  time  imme- 
morial. All  his  tastes  and  inclinations  are  peace- 
ful. In  his  intimate  knowledge  of  his  business, 
his  laborious  patience,  his  industrious  contentment 
in  what  the   sunshine   brings   and  the    soil   yields, 


A  GOOD  mm  AN.  185 


he  is  the  model  farmer  of  America,  and  reminds  one 
of  all  he  has  ever  heard  of  the  patient  husbandmen 
of  Egypt  and  China.  It  is  surprising  to  note  how- 
he  is  the  teacher  of  those  whose  ancestors  were  his 
latest  conquerors  and  oppressors.  The  whole  curi- 
ous routine  of  Mexican  husbandry  is  borrowed  from 
the  Pueblo.  His  plough  is  made  of  two  pieces  of 
wood,  the  one  mortised  to  the  other  at  such  an 
angle  as  makes  at  once  the  coulter  and  the  beam. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  it  is  only  tlie  crotch  of  a  tree, 
found  suited  to  the  purpose.  Yoked  to  this  are  the 
gaunt,  long-horned,  patient  oxen,  tied  together  by 
a  straight  piece  of  wood  bound  to  the  horns.  As 
one  sees  the  brown-faced  son  of  toil  holding  his  rude 
plough  by  its  one  straight  handle,  walking  beside 
the  lengthening  mark  which  can  scarcely  be  called 
a  furrow,  through  the  low  field  yet  wet  and  shining 
from  recent  inundations,  urging  his  beasts  with  gro- 
tesque cries  and  a  long  rod,  one  can  hardly  help 
tliinking  that  the  rude  wood-cuts  that  illustrate  Ori- 
ental agriculture  in  the  Biblical  commentaries  have 
come  out  of  their  respective  pages  and  are  there 
before  him. 

And  it  is  the  Pueblo  who  has  modelled  the 
universal  architecture  of  the  country.  The  low 
houses  of  sun-dried  brick,  with  earthen  roof  and 
earthen  beds  and  benches  and  floors,  have  an  ori- 
gin far  back  of  the  conquest,  and  though  some- 
what modified  by  it,  are  by  no  means  the  result 
of  Spanish  ideas  of  comfort  and  taste  exclusively. 
The  Pueblo,  a  farmer  by  nature,  has  from  early 
times  been  surrounded  by  the  Apache,  his  enemy 


IM  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


always.  Therefore  the  cluster  of  liouses  which 
formed  the  common  village  was  each  one  a  castle. 
He  made  no  doors,  and  when  he  and  his  family 
retired  for  the  night,  they  climbed  a  ladder  to  the 
roof  and  drew  the  stairway  after  them. 

Their  villages  are  still  the  nuclei  of  farming  com- 
munities, and  their  inhabitants,  in  the  majority  of 
instances,  yet  enter  their  houses  through  the  roof. 
The  orchards  of  peach  and  apricot,  and  the  laden 
grape-vines,  as  well  as  the  low-lying  little  fields, 
are,  with  immense  pains,  surrounded  by  an  almost 
inaccessible  wall.  The  Pueblo  shuts  in  his  life  fr6m 
the  world,  and  delights  in  personal  isolation.  His 
curious  house  and  closely  fenced  garden  are  not  so 
from  motives  of  fear  alone.  In  common  with  all  the 
aborigines  of  the  continent,  he  seems  bent  npon 
solitude  amid  the  thousand  changes  which  encroach 
upon  him,  and  desirous  of  passing  away  silently  to 
join  his  fathers,  without  a  memento,  a  monument, 
or  a  word  of  history,  save  the  meagre  annals  of  his 
decline  and  death,  told  only  by  his  conquerors.  For 
hundreds  of  years  it  has  been  so,  and  the  picture 
presented  seems  almost  an  impossible  one  to  the 
restless  American  mind.  For  centuries  beyond 
which  the  poor  Pueblo  has  still  his  traditions,  with 
decreasing  numbers,  with  new  surroundings,  with 
the  predatory  Apache  and  the  tyrannical  and  covet- 
ous Spaniard,  and  latterly  the  Yankee  stranger  ever 
peering  over  his  garden  wall,  he  has  toiled  on, 
clinging  to  ancient  habits,  intensely  occupied  with 
the  sordid  details  of  the  humblest  of  all  lives,  and, 
through    all,    content.     Nor  will    it   be    considered 


A   GOOD  INDIAK.  187 


strange  if,  as  tliey  tell,  the  light  required  by  liis 
ancient  faith  is  still  kept  burning  upon  his  hearth, 
and  in  his  heart  he  still  cherishes  a  faith  that  in  tlie 
light  of  some  radiant  morning  the  immortal  One, 
King  of  all  the  faithful,  will  come  again  from  tlie 
East,  bringing  deliverance  with  him. 

But  it  is  the  recollection  of  a  harvest-day  among 
tliese  patient  and  pathetic  people  that  suggested  all 
this.  Far  down  the  sandy  valley,  as  one  approaches, 
stand  the  long  lines  of  brown  wall,  and  far  to  the 
right  glitter  in  the  noon  sunshine  the  slimy  pools 
and  yellow  current  of  the  mosquito-haunted  river. 
The  settlement,  with  the  village  for  its  centre,  seems 
a  large  one.  On  every  hand  are  the  evidences'  of 
unwonted  activity.  The  cumbrous  carts,  with  their 
framework  of  osier,  howl  dismally  on  oilless  axles  as 
they  pass  you  on  the  roadside,  to  return  laden  with 
yellow  bundles.  Here  are  four  women,  the  eldest 
old  indeed,  and  the  youngest  almost  a  child,  who 
trudge  along  in  the  sand,  each  one's  back  loaded 
with  fresh  fruit.  Did  you  ask  for  peaches  ?  The 
eldest  deliberately  unloads  herself  by  the  roadside, 
opens  her  bag,  selects  a  double  handful  of  the 
largest  and  ripest,  and  presents  them,  with  a  moth- 
erly suiile  upon  her  wrinkled  old  face.  She  will 
take  no  money,  and  trudges  on,  leaving  you  to  look 
after  her  and  reflect  that  courtesy  is  by  no  means 
confined  to  the  Christians  who  have  white  faces. 
Perhaps  the  small  incident  is  characteristic;  for  with 
just  such  kindness  did  this  poor  woman's  ancestors 
welcome  the  strangers  from  across  the  sea,  so  many 
centuries  ago. 


188  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKF.TCHES. 

In  the  fields  on  either  hand  the  reapers  wade 
slowly  along,  patiently  gathering  each  yellow  stalk. 
Some  distance  away,  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  straw 
tossed  high  in  air,  and  uncommon  noises,  proclaim 
tlie  active  operation  of  a  primitive  threshing- 
machine.  Around  a  circular  space  some  twenty  feet 
in  diameter  tall  poles  are  set  in  the  ground,  and 
between  these,  from  one  to  the  other,  are  drawn 
thongs  of  raw-hide.  Within,  the  ground  is  covered 
with  wheat,  which  is  being  trodden  out  by  some 
twenty  unbridled  donkeys.  The  small  urchins  tum- 
ble and  halloo  in  the  straw  outside  of  the  enclosure, 
like  children  in  a  straw-pile  anywhere  in  the  world  ; 
and  two  women  and  a  man  in  the  centre  of  the  ring 
so  work  upon  the  feelings  of  the  donkeys  that,  what 
with  gestures,  and  shouts,  and  sundry  long  poles, 
they  go  fast  and  faster,  as  diabolically  mixed  as  Tam 
O'Shanter's  witch-dance.  To  a  man  accustomed  to 
close  intimacy  with  the  kind,  there  is  ever  some- 
thing ridiculous  and  grotesque  in  the  long  ears  and 
solemn  countenance  of  the  ass.  Stir  intense  dignity 
and  preternatural  solemnity  into  unbecoming  friski- 
ness,  and  the  scene  becomes  pitiably  ludicrous.  As 
you  watch  these  who  tread  out  the  corn  on  the 
ancient  threshing-iloor  that  seems  translated  out  of 
the  Old  Testament,  you  find  yourself  intent  upon 
seeing  how,  with  long  ears  laid  back  and  flying 
heels,  they  revenge  upon  each  other  the  indignities 
of  their  masters. 

Somehow,  as  you  approach  the  village,  you  gather 
the  impression  that  all  the  women  you  meet  are  very 
large  and  all  the  men  are  very  small.     For  aught  I 


A    GOOD  INDIAN.  189 

know  it  is  a  fallacy  ;  but  the  average  Pueblo  woman 
is  a  creature  whose  dignity  would  not  suffer  by  com- 
parison with  some  of  the  queens  of  civilization.  And 
you  begin  to  discover  that  there  are  also  girls,  among 
whom  the  selling  of  fruit  is  a  specialty.  A  row  of 
heads  are  just  visible  above  the  wall,  and  before 
each  there  is  a  huge  melon  and  a  fruit  basket.  This 
is  the  temporary  market,  instituted  without  issue  of 
bonds  or  previous  arrangement,  upon  the  arrival  of 
every  government  train.  I  would  there  were  some 
lone  spot  upon  the  habitable  globe  where  the  tricks 
of  traffic  were  unknown.  Here  the  fruit  trade  is 
rendered  considerably  more  lively  by  the  merry 
eyes,  white  teeth,  and  brown  and  sturdy  shoulders 
of  a  company  of  merry  market-women.  Surely  the 
long  train  of  wrongs  that  have  pressed  to  the  verge 
of  extinction  a  hospitable  and  gallant  race  have  by 
these  creatures  been  but  seldom  heard  of,  or  are 
poorly  remembered. 

The  village  has  the  appearance  of  being  com- 
posed of  blank  walls.  Only  the  square  tops  of  the 
houses,  and  none  of  the  domestic  operations,  can 
be  seen.  But  the  loaded  boughs  of  trees  droop 
over  the  walls,  and  here  and  there  are  glimpses  of 
trailing  vines  and  pleasant  vistas.  But  it  is  in  the 
midst  of  a  dreary  land  ;  and  the  stretch  of  yellow 
stubble  between  you  and  the  bank,  where  the  Cot- 
tonwood leaves  tremble  lazily  in  the  summer  wind, 
the  suggestion  of  rest,  quiet,  contentment  and  plenty 
behind  the  drab  walls,  and  the  holiday  faces  around 
you,  contrast  strongly  with  the  bare  brown  moun- 
tains that  rise  on  every  hand.     In  any  more  favored 


190  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

country  the  simple  pastoral  scene,  wliicli  remains 
long  with  you  in  the  hundreds  of  monotonous  miles 
yet  to  come,  might  scarcely  be  remembered  at  all. 
From  villages  such  as  this,  fenced  about  with  walls, 
upon  one  side  of  which  grows  the  cactus,  and  upon 
the  other  verdure,  fruit  and  content,  the  very  name 
of  this  curious  people  is  taken.  "Pueblo"  means 
only  a  town.  The  old  name  by  which  they  call 
themselves,  the  name  which  expresses  lineage  and 
a  country,  I  know  not,  and  there  are  few  who  care 
what  it  may  be. 

Yet  a  little  further,  and  there  is  another  oriental 
threshing  floor,  upon  which  the  scene  is  difierent 
from  the  last.  The  children  and  the  persecuted 
and  revengeful  donkeys  have  vanished  together, 
and  the  hands  and  minds  of  the  two  stoical  persons 
there  are  occupied  in  an  operation  so  striking  and 
important  in  the  operations  of  simple  life  that  it  was 
inore  frequently  used  than  any  other  as  a  simile  to 
teach  the  sons  of  the  patriarchs  the  lessons  which 
all  men  ought  to  know.  It  is  the  winnowing  of  the 
wheat.  One  of  the  persons  is  an  old  man,  so  with- 
ered of  shank  and  so  lean  of  face  that  he  would 
seem  to  have  been  subjected  to  some  process  of  dry- 
ing for  the  sake  of  preservation.  The  other  is  a 
woman,  and  directly  his  opposite  in  all  things.  I 
cannot  tell  if  it  is  always  so,  or  if  the  picture  was 
only  made  for  me  ;  but  I  lingered  and  studied  it. 
She  too  was  tall,  and  had  a  stolid  and  determined, 
but  rather  comelj-,  face.  Her  head  was  bound  in  a 
folded  shawl,  but  her  hair  escaped  unconfincd  and 
lay  about  her  shoulders.     Her  outer  garment  was 


.1    GOOD  INDIAN,  191 


not  a  gown,  but  the  dress  of  her  kind,  so  universally 
worn  that  it  seemed  a  kind  of  uniform,  being  a  bhm- 
ket  of  black  wool,  bound  about  with  a  red  sash. 
From  the  knee  her  limbs  were  bare,  as  were  also 
her  arms  and  shoulders.  She  stood  with  her  left 
foot  advanced,  and  her  large  arms  held  high  above 
her  head  the  saucer-shaped  basket,  over  the  edge  of 
which  poured  the  slow  stream  of  mingled  chaff  and 
wheat.  Considered  merely  as  a  bronze  statue  en- 
dowed with  life,  and  without  reference  to  any  other 
faculties  or  qualities,  this  stalwart  woman,  who  was 
entirely  unconscious  of  herself,  was  the  most  perfect 
specimen  of  grace  conceivable.  When  the  padded 
queen  of  the  ballet  stands  in  the  tableau,  in  an  atti- 
tude meant  to  be  the  embodiment  of  gracefulness, 
but  which  is  but  a  mincing  and  studied  artificiality, 
then  I  know  how  far  is  any  attempt  of  art  from  the 
grace  that  untaught  nature  attains,  and  think  of  the 
Pueblo  squaw  who  winnowed  wheat  by  the  roadside 
in  the  afternoon  sunsliine. 

There  was  still  another  personage  there,  who  at 
first  escaped  notice.  His  presence  was  not  essential 
to  the  work  in  hand,  but  it  would  be  a  mistake  to 
underestimate  his  personal  importance.  In  the  slant 
shadow  of  the  straw-pile  lay  a  big  baby  boy,  in  the 
entire  nakedness  of  nature.  He  flung  his  brown, 
round  limbs  high  in  air,  in  the  lissome  gymnastics 
of  infancy,  and  while  he  gathered  mysterious  sus- 
tenance from  the  sucking  of  one  of  his  fists,  with  the 
other  he  clutched  awkw\ardly  at  the  sunshine  and 
other  imaginai'y  nothings  that  float  in  the  air  before 
the  eyes  of  infancy. 


192  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

It  is  a  question  whether  the  much-discussed  sub- 
ject of  woman's  rights  really  had  its  origin  in  the 
minds  of  cultivated  and  highly-educated  people. 
Among  all  the  aboriginal  tribes  of  America,  women 
have  had  their  "rights"  time  whereof  the  memory 
of  their  brutes  of  husbands  runs  not  to  the  contrary. 
And  the  truth  is  that  those  rights  entail  upon  the 
sex,  as  well  in  civilization  as  in  savagery,  that  con- 
comitant of  equal  dinidgery  which  the  Logans  and 
the  Stantons  and  the  Miss  Dickinsons  would  be 
very  unwilling  to  assume.  To  the  privileges  and 
labors  of  masculinity,  the  conditions  of  civilization 
seem  to  be  an  eternal  bar.  Once  a  robust  Pueblo 
woman  was  selling  pinons  at  the  corner  of  the  plaza 
at  Albuquerque,  and  a  sleek-looking  infant  lay  in  a 
blanket  beside  her.  I  asked  her  how  old  the 
youngster  was.  She  complacently  answered,  "Day 
before  yesterday,"  and  pointed  with  her  finger  to 
that  j)ai*t  of  the  heavens  where  the  moon  was  at 
that  inconvenient  hour  in  the  early  morning,  at 
which,  as  I  am  credibly  informed,  babies  every- 
where are  in  the  habit  of  coming  into  the  world. 
She  was  proud  of  the  urchin,  too,  as  all  women  are, 
and  slipping  her  finger  through  his  waistbanc),  held 
him  dangling  and  kicking  like  a  large  spider  for  our 
closer  inspection.  Such  women  as  these  are  alone 
physically  comj)etent  to  maintain  ''rights." 

So  many  strange  stories  are  told  and  believed  of 
the  Pueblos  —  of  their  religion,  social  customs,  and 
domestic  life, — that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  sift 
truth  from  romance.  But  they  are,  at  least,  the 
only  ones  of  the  original  races  who  have  always 


A    GOOD  INDIAN.  193 

been  friendly  to  the  white  man.  When  General 
Kearney  took  possession  of  the  Territory  in  1850, 
in  the  name  of  the  United  States,  the  immediate 
release  from  the  peonage  and  semi-slavery  of  so 
many  years  so  affected  the  hearts  of  the  simple 
people  that  for  a  long  time  they  are  said  to  have 
clung  to  the  belief  that  the  commandant  was  the 
long-looked-for  "man  from  the  East,"  come  for 
their  deliverance.  ^Repeated  enforcements  of  equal 
laws,  protection  from  Apaches,  and  general  and 
reciprocal  good  treatment,  have  conspired  to  place 
them  in  such  relations  with  the  great  power  destined 
before  many  years  to  absorb  the  whole  central  con- 
tinent as  none  others  of  the  aborigines  enjoy. 

It  will  not  do  to  imagine  that  because  the  Pueb- 
los are  purely  agricultural,  they  are  incapable  of 
defence.  On  the  contrary,  their  whole  history  has 
been  one  of  turmoil  and  strife.  The  Mexicans  op- 
pressed and  the  Comanches  and  Apaches  murdered 
them ;  and  these  ancient  and  unremitting  contests 
are  the  cause  of  that  air  of  ancient  ruin  and  dead 
history  that  so  much  of  ]N"ew  Mexico  now  wears.  It 
is  not  the  crumbling  church,  and  the  foot-worn  and 
dilapidated  village  street,  that  are  the  oldest  things 
in  Mexico.  Far  back  of  the  conquest  existed  the 
semi-civilization  seen  in  the  Pueblo  village  of  to-day. 
Almost  unchanged,  we  see  it  still.  The  cities  whose 
walls  are  grass-grown  ridges  now,  perhaps  had 
bustling  thoroughfares  and  a  teeming  population 
while  the  mound-builders  of  the  Mississippi  valley 
were  at  their  strange  work. 

But  these  are  questions  for  the  savans.  It  is 
13 


194  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


with  the  present,  and  with  such  things  as  are  appa- 
rent in  daily  life,  that  this  sketch  has  to  do.  I 
said  that  through  all  these  centuries  of  conflict  and 
change,  it  was  strange  to  note  that  manners  and 
dress  had  remained  so  nearly  unchanged.  But  that 
remark  needs  this  further  explanation :  that  it  is  of 
course  impossible  that  contact  with  others  should 
have  absolutely  no  effect,  and  here  is  an  instance. 
It  is  not  missionary  effort  —  not  even  of  the  invin- 
cible phalanx  of  Jesuitism, — not  Bibles,  tracts,  and 
preaching,  that  come  nearest  the  heart  of  the  pagan. 
The  Indian  of  every  tribe  and  latitude  has  obtained 
for  himself  a  new  character  as  the  autocrat  of  the 
speckled  shirt,  and  these  conservative  people  are 
long  since  clothed  upon  with  the  new  idea.  Of  all 
the  girls,  women,  old  men,  and  babies,  in  sight, 
there  is  not  one,  except  the  last,  who  does  not  wear 
calico  as  the  material  of  some  queerly-cut  garment. 
The  old  man  who  stands  watching  the  winnowing, 
with  the  somewhat  imbecile  attempt  at  helping,  has 
on  only  three  articles  of  apparel,  and  two  of  them 
are  cotton.  The  statuesque  woman  wears  beneath 
the  black  woollen  uniform  a  snow-white  garment  of 
a  not  unfamiliar  pattern,  which,  when  worn  alone, 
seems  ever  to  have  the  indisputable  merit  of  loose- 
ness without  any  corresponding  virtue  as  a  covering. 
The  girls  who  stand  a-row  behind  the  wall  are  all 
clad  in  the  material  whose  familiar  print  takes  one 
back  at  a  bound  to  the  square  stone  buildings  that 
are  the  wealth  and  pride  of  the  diminutive  common- 
wealth of  Khode  Island.     But  scarcely  as  dresses 


A   GOOD  INDIAN.  195 

are  tliej  worn,  and  it  is  only  the  material  that  is 
fashionable  with  these. 

Here  the  idea  of  communism  lias  been  practically 
carried  out  for  all  the^e  years.  The  village,  with  its 
walls  and  gardens  and  curious  houses,  has  one  com- 
mon purpose  in  its  occupancy  —  that  of  protection 
and  society.  There  is  no  industry  but  agriculture. 
There  are  no  stores,  no  shops,  no  sound  of  hammer 
and  file.  Every  house  was  contrived  for  but  two 
purposes :  residence  and  defence.  There  are  not 
even  streets,  and  only  narrow  paths  wind  between 
onion-beds  and  currant  bushes  from  house  to  house. 
Each  ftimily  is  self-productive  of  every  needed  article 
of  domestic  economy,  even  to  the  fire-baked  potter}^ 
from  which  they  eat  and  drink.  The  black  woollen 
garment  was  dyed  after  nature's  recipe,  upon  the 
back  of  the  sheep,  and  the  moccasins  were  made 
by  the  wearer.  The  clumsy  cart,  upon  which  the 
Mexican  has  been  unable  to  improve,  is  shaped  and 
pinned  and  tied  together  by  the  unaided  skill  of  the 
man  who  expects  to  use  it.  The  only  article  of  any 
constant  use  or  importance,  not  actually  made  upon 
the  premises,  is  the  cotton  cloth  heretofore  referred 
to.  It  is  a  community  in  which  there  are  no  ques- 
tions of  finance,  and  that  could  live  without  money. 

Strangely  enough,  in  all  these  things  there  is  no 
diversity  of  style.  Like  birds'  nests,  as  they  are 
made  now,  so  have  they  been  made  from  time 
immemorial.  The  porous  earthen  water-jug  which 
hangs  from  the  rafters  in  every  house  is  of  the  sanie 
shape,  with  the  same  ornamentation,  in  every  case. 
The    old  idea  of  the  Biblical   commentaries  comes 


196  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

back  again,  when  two  women  sit  grinding  at  the 
mill,  the  loaf  is  baked  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  girls 
are  seen  returning  from  the  spring,  each  with  her 
tall  water-jar  upon  her  head.  These  people  only 
need  to  live  in  dingy  striped  tents,  surrounded  by 
their  goats  and  asses,  and  to  be  a  little  less  heathen- 
ish in  their  faith,  to  reproduce  within  the  bounds  of 
an  overgrown  republic  the  days  when  Jacob  worked 
for  that  grasping  patriarch,  his  future  father-in-law, 
and  was  cheated  at  last,  and  the  father  of  the  patri- 
archs sat  at  his  tent  door  and  watched  the  countless 
flocks  that  grazed  the  future  inheritance  of  his 
descendants. 

As  these  primitive  agriculturists  produce  within 
themselves  all  they  need,  so  they  are  learned  in  all 
that  it  is  needful  for  them  to  know.  Long  before 
the  little  monkish  knowledge  they  may  have  con- 
sented to  acquire  came  to  them  from  across  the  sea, 
they  knew  the  times  and  seasons,  and  had  a  calen- 
dar in  which  the  days  were  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five.  They  practised  then,  as  now,  their  patient 
agriculture  with  a  skill  and  success  some  part  of 
which  would  be  a  boon  to  farmers  who  subscribe  for 
agricultural  journals  and  are  engaged  in  the  polem- 
ics of  farming  as  a  means  of  disseminating  the  sur- 
plus of  information  that  they  have  acquired.  They 
knew  how  to  take  the  crude  metals  from  their  native 
beds,  and  mould  them  into  forms  for  ornament  and 
use.  Their  brethren  of  the  south  built  colossal 
piles  of  hewn  stone.  The  fountains  they  made  in 
thirsty  lands  are  playing  yet,  and  the  roads  they 
built  still  lead  to  the  gates  of  the  Mexican  capital. 


A   GOOD  INDIAN.  197 


Thej  have,  indeed,  through  all  these  centuries, 
gone  backward  and  not  forward.  But  the  truth 
whicli  is  even  now  apparent,  that  for  not  one  of  all 
the  original  tribes  of  America  is  there  any  hope,  will 
probably  not  be  accepted  as  such  until,  within  a 
few  generations,  the  end  shall  have  come.  There 
is  an  isolation  in  the  midst  of  surrounding  life  and 
activity,  that  accepts  no  compromise  with  death. 
Ever  the  patient  victim  of  change,  himself  unchang- 
ing, and  never  the  aggressor,  with  the  material  for 
a  hundred  histories,  no  one  may  know  how  heroic 
or  pathetic,  gone  in  the  past,  when  the  poor  Pueblo 
shall  finally  leave  his  seed  to  be  sown  with  a  patent 
drill  and  his  harvest  to  be  reaped  with  a  clattering 
machine,  he  will  merit  at  least  the  remembrance 
that  his  hands  were  never  red  with  Saxon  blood 
and  that  his  hearth  was  abandoned  without  reprisal. 

But  before  he  goes  he  will  see  the  white  man's 
magic  in  the  engine  rushing  before  its  train  down 
the  valley  of  the  Rio  Grande,  and  the  iron  rail  will 
usurp  the  place  of  the  donkey-path  before  his  door.^ 
And  soon  the  denizens  of  whitewashed  towns  will 
have  scared  the  husbandman  from  his  plough  and 
the  fruit-seller  from  the  wall ;  and  the  noisy  civilized 
crowd  will  forget,  if  they  ever  knew,  that  in  these 
transformed  regions  there  existed  so  peaceful  and 
pleasant  a  thing  as  the  home  and  farm  of  the  Pueblo. 

*  Written  ten  years  ago.  The  railway  daily  performs  the  feat  described, 
and  the  time  for  studying  the  modern  life  of  this  last  of  his  interesting  race 
has  forever  passed. 


X. 

JACK'S  DIYOEOE. 

HE  was  not  black,  though  universally  known  as 
"Blackjack,"  and  except  that  he  had  upon 
him  the  ineffaceable  marks  of  sun  and  wind,  miglit 
have  been  considered  more  than  ordinarily  fair.  His 
hair  was  of  a  reddish  brown,  and  his  eyes  had  that 
steady  and  unflinching  gaze  wliich  bespeaks  for  their 
owner  honesty  without  blemish  and  vision  without 
flaw. 

It  is  not  enough  to  say  that  Jack  was  merely  a 
frontiersman,  because  in  many  instances  that  only 
expresses  an  accident  and  not  a  character.  He  had 
about  him  that  something  which,  wliile  it  can  only 
exist  on  the  border,  is  yet  a  part  of  the  man. 
Though  not  a  negative  person,  he  was  one  of  those 
of  whom  a  clearer  idea  may  be  given  by  stating 
what  he  was  not  than  by  explaining  what  he  was. 
There  is  a  whole  world  in  which  all  the  famous  and 
remarkable  doings  of  mankind  are  performed,  of 
wliich  Jack  knew  absolutely  nothing ;  and  in  him  I 
do  but  describe  a  class,  of  which  he  was  a  repre- 
sentative man. 

Woman,  in  all  the  splendor  of  pearls  of  the 
ocean  and  gems  of  the  mine,  endowed  with  all  the 
refinements  of  civilization,  and  the  inheritor  of  all 
the  tact  and  delicacy  that  result  from  ages  of  refine- 

198 


JACICS  DIVORCE.  199 


ment  —  bland,  bewitching^  and  fearfully  and  won- 
derfully made  up, —  he  had  never  even  seen.  Fem- 
ininity conveyed  no  such  idea  to  him.  The  women 
he  had  known  were  only  women  in  tlie  broad  sense 
in  which  female  is  not  male.  The  wharfs  and  streets 
of  crowded  cities,  the  throng  of  the  pavement  and 
the  exchange,  the  crowd  and  jam  and  bustle  of  trade, 
blooming  fields  and  paved  roads,  were  all  crowded 
out  of  his  conceptions  of  life  and  men,  and  he  for- 
tunately had  no  speculations  and  opinions  to  digest 
concerning  them.  He  had  never  even  heard  the 
sound  of  the  church  bells,  and,  perhaps  also  happily 
for  him,  was  steeped  in  Fijian  ignorance  of  all  the 
fateful  differences  in  creeds  which  exist  among  those 
who  diligently  seek  after  the  truth.  He  was 
benighted,  but  he  was  perpetually  free  from  any 
attack  of  odium  theologlcmni. 

In  his  ignorance  of  all  that  is  fashionable  and 
most  that  is  good  among  civilized  mankind,  he  was 
even  ignorant  of  the  praises  and  luxuries  men  some- 
times earn  by  dying,  and  the  fair  monuments  and 
flattering  epitaphs  of  Greenwood  and  Olivet  would 
have  filled  him  with  astonishment.  His  was  the 
rock-piled  and  lonely  grave  of  the  wilderness  ;  and 
it  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  a  palace  was  neces- 
sary to  the  welfare  of  mouldering  clay. 

If  the  schoolmasteij  was  ever  abroad  in  western 
Arkansas,  where  Jack  first  saw  the  light,  the  benign 
influence  never  reached  his  mind.  He  could  not 
read,  and  was  ignorant  of  the  primary  rules  of  arith- 
metic and  of  everything  else  in  the  way  of  books. 
The  immense  literature  of  fiction  and  newspaperdom 


200  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

lie  had  never  even  heard  of;  and  yet  ho  knew,  tra- 
ditionally as  it  were,  some  of  Watts' s  hymns,  and 
would  repeat  them  wdth  the  same  unction  and  pathos 
with  which  the  childish  and  immortal  lines  are  said 
by  all  who  speak  the  English  tongue. 

But  he  was  not  a  grown-up  child.  He  lacked 
none  of  the  great  essentials  that  go  to  make  up  the 
remarkable  biped  whose  ancestor  was  an  ape  and 
whose  future  is  very  doubtful.  He  spoke  his  mother 
tongue  with  a  fluency  equal  to  all  the  requirements 
of  his  life,  and  he  spiced  and  strengthened  it  with 
that  piquant  slang  which  expresses  so  much  in  so 
few  words  that  it  is  almost  to  be  regretted  that  it  is 
very  vulgar  to  use  it.  His  most  peculiar  character- 
istic, however,  was  not  an  educational  one.  It  con- 
sisted in  the  seeming  absence  of  anything  like  per- 
sonal fear.  Whole  armies  of  men,  surging  masses 
that  number  many  thousands,  may,  and  often  do, 
go  through  a  long  day  of  carnage  witlioiit  any 
instance  of  cowardice.  But  this  is  not  the  variety  of 
courage  meant.  He  limped,  had  lost  a  finger,  and 
carried  an  ugly  scar  upon  his  cheek.  But  all  these 
he  had  obtained  at  different  times,  and  all  in  fight- 
ing with  Indians.  But  not  for  glory.  With  no 
particular  interest  at  stake,  pecuniary  or  otherwise, 
he  still  wandered  through  the  canons  and  over  the 
hills,  alone,  and  solely  bent  upon  killing  the  game 
he  loved  to  hunt,  unmoved  by  repeated  encounters 
and  escapes.  Unless  questioned,  he  never  alluded 
to  his  adventures.  He  seemed  to  be  ignorant  of 
any  manner  of  life  among  the  conditions  of  which 


JACETS  DIVORCE.  201 


was  included  the  common  essential  of  personal 
safety. 

There  is  a  certain  weapon  which  all  have  seen 
and  with  which  far  too  many  are  familiar.  The 
name  of  its  inventor  has  gone  down  to  posterity 
with  something  like  renown.  Skilfully  handled,  it 
is  a  weapon  that  few  like  to  face.  It  is  a  small 
arsenal  of  rapid  and  sudden  death,  and  a  single 
man,  skilled  in  the  use  of  Colt's  revolver,  is  almost 
equal  to  six  men  with  old-fashioned  arms  that  fire 
but  a  single  shot.  In  the  use  of  this  pretty  toy. 
Jack  was  a  miracle  even  among  his  own  compan- 
ions. He  was  a  walking  Gatling,  and  the  pair  that 
were  continually  upon  his  person  were  worn  smooth 
with  constant  handling. 

This  v/as  one  reason  why  Jack  was  not  afraid  of 
Indians.  There  was  no  moment  when  eye  and  ear 
were  not  alert.  He  frequently  remarked:  "They 
ain't  got  me  yit ;  a  man  can't  die  nohow  till  his 
time  comes."  And  in  that  bit  of  profound  philoso- 
phy he  believed  with  so  profound  and  simple  a  faith 
that  it  seemed  a  pity  it  had  not  more  sense  in  it. 

But  simple  and  honest  as  was  the  life  of  this 
gentle  savage,  he  became  the  victim  of  one  great 
trouble,  and  that  of  course  had  a  woman  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  It  was  the  incident  that  made  him 
seem  more  like  the  men  around  him,  and  demon- 
strated as  well  his  kinship  with  the  great  mass  of 
mankind. 

Dolores  was  the  handsomest  woman  Jack  had 
ever  known  in  his  wild  life  ;  or,  at  least,  she  su 
appeared    to   him.       She   was    Mexican  —  which    is 


202  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


Spanish,  — had  been  once  as  fair  as  a  brown-colored 
nymph,  and  was  still  as  coquettish  as  it  runs  in  her 
race  to  be,  and  as  false  as  the  profane  word  Shaks- 
peare  uses  as  a  comparative  in  this  same  connection. 
She  was  only  a  laundress  in  the  military  post  hard 
by;  but  her  eyes  were  black  and  her  teeth  were 
white,  and  she  cauglit  Jack  on  the  tender  side  which 
all  such  men  present  to  female  blandishments. 

Bold  as  he  always  had  been,  he  must  therefore 
surrender  to  this  fragile  senorita.  She  had  had 
many  lovers.  She  could  hardly  count  them  upon 
all  her  fingers.  Some  she  had  discarded,  to-wit : 
all  she  had  ever  had,  at  odd  times,  of  her  own  race. 
And  some  had  discarded  her,  namely:  certain  Amer- 
ican Lotharios,  who  could  be  faithful  long  to  none. 
But  she  was  not  broken-hearted,  nor  indeed  very 
sorrowful,  and  had  steadily  replaced  vacancies  by 
new  recruits.  And  last  came  honest  Jack,  whose 
lieart  she  accepted  without  hesitation,  and  whose 
money  she  spent  without  remorse.  Doubtless  for 
her  sake  Jack  might  have  left  off  risking  his  life 
amongst -the  Apaches.  There  was  no  telling  but 
that  he  might  in  time  have  been  induced  to  live  in  a 
town  and  sleep  upon  a  bed. 

It  must  be  understood  in  this  case,  as  in  all 
others  of  the  kind,  that  a  man's  liking  for  a  woman 
is  not  controlled  by  any  trait  in  her  character.  Do- 
lores was  still  maturely  handsome  ;  she  knew  men 
very  well ;  and  she  practised  the  art  of  coquetry 
with  the  skill  of  all  her  sex,  added  to  the  historic 
proficiency  of  her  race.  It  may  be  that  there  had 
descended  to  her,  through  a  long  line  of  forgotten 


JACK'S  DIVORCE.  203 

ancestry,  some  of  the  cunning  graces  and  charms, 
and  some  of  the  velvet-covered  trickery,  which  long 
ago  distinguished  the  dames  of  Arragon  and  Old 
Castile.  She  had  at  least  the  softness,  the  subtle 
smooth  suavity,  which  gives  to  the  women  of  the 
Latin  race  a  peculiar  attractiveness  to  tlie  bluff 
American. 

So  she  married  the  hunter,  after  the  manner  of 
the  country  ;  and  well  it  was  to  one  whose  vows  sat 
with  such  habitual  lightness,  that  the  ceremony  was 
of  no  more  binding  character.  It  was  hoyia  fide  to 
Jack,  however,  and  they  two  lived  together  in  a 
very  small  house  near  the  outer  wall  of  the  post. 
Perhaps  Dolores  never  intended  to  cling  with  very 
great  faithfulness  to  him  alone.  She  probably  argued 
that  it  was  for  the  present  convenient;  and,  judging 
him  by  her  standard,  calculated  upon  his  roving  life 
and  the  faithlessness  of  men  in  general  for  final  free- 
dom when  some  new  inducement  should  off'er.  But, 
as  stated,  it  was  a  part  of  Jack's  personality  to  be 
faithful.  He  had  no  other  idea  than  that  he  was 
bound  hand  and  foot,  and  had  never  read  history 
and  thus  become  acquainted  with  the  illustrious 
examples  there  aff'orded  of  matrimonial  unfaithful- 
ness. And  as  was  natural  to  one  of  his  ignorance 
and  simplicity,  he  expected  a  reciprocity  of  feeling. 

In  a  few  weeks,  Dolores  began  to  use  her  fine 
eyes  upon  various  of  the  uncouth  masculines  she 
met,  after  the  old  fashion,  and  Jack  began  to  grow 
moody,  and  to  look  hard  and  determined  out  of  his 
blue  eyes,  and  by  and  by  there  was  a  look  upon  his 
face  that  the  veriest  death-seeker  in   all  that  des- 


204  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

perate  country  would  hardly  have  cared  to  defy, 
and  when  at  home  he  certainly  kept  his  house  and 
his  family  to  himself. 

But  now  there  came  and  stayed  at  the  trader's 
store  a  man  who  wore  barbaric  gold  and  a  linen 
shirt;  one  whose  fingers  were  long,  and  exceeding 
nimble  in  dealing  cards,  and  whose  countenance  had 
about  it  a  look  of  mingled  bravado  and  cunning. 
He  came  as  a  traveller,  and  staj^ed  for  weeks ;  and 
ere  long  he  and  Jack's  wife  were  exchanging  glances 
of  recognition.  Fraud  and  foxiness  were  so  plainly 
written  upon  his  person  that  it  was  easy  to  believe 
that  to  defraud  Jack,  or,  if  not  Jack,  tlien  some  one 
else,  was  what  he  stayed  and  waited  for. 

But  meantime  the  hunter  had  ideas  and  purposes 
of  his  own  ;  and,  with  a  silence  that  was  ominous, 
he  kept  those  purposes  to  himself.  He  seemed 
always  waiting  and  watching  for  something ;  and  the 
nian  wlio  has  many  a  time  waited  and  watched  among 
the  rocks  and  hills,  and  many  a  time  come  off  victor 
through  vigilance,  does  not  usually  wait  and  watch 
for  nothing.  What  he  waited  for  finally  came,  and 
with  it  his  idea  of  reparation  and  justice. 

As  was  not  uncommon,  he  took  his  gun  and  can- 
teen, and  went  away  to  the  mountains.  But  lie 
seemed  to  go  regularly,  and  generally  returned  on 
the  third  day.  Strangely  enough,  he  brought  back 
no  game,  but  looked  clay-begrimed  and  tired.  So 
far  as  known,  he  still  found  everything  to  be,  to  use 
his  own  expression,  ^'reg'lar."  Nevertheless,  it 
was  a  fact  among  the  knowing  ones,  that  the  dull 
hours  were  beguiled  by  tiie  gambler  at  Jack's  cabin, 


JACK'S  DIVORCE.  205 


during  these  frequent  absences  of  the  owner.  A 
month  or  more  passed  in  this  manner,  and  Jack's 
look  grew  colder  and  harder  every  clay.  I^o  com- 
mon man  could  have  passed  unquestioned.  But 
there  was  an  evidence  of  purpose  in  his  demeanor 
and  a  metliod  in  his  coming  and  going,  and  those 
who  knew  him  quietly  awaited  results.  Meantime, 
possessing  all  the  qualifications  that  are  valued  and 
admired  in  such  a  country,  and  having  been  faithful 
to  all  and  wronged  no  one,  he  had  many  friends ; 
while  his  enemy,  if  such  the  gambler  might  as  yet 
be  called,  had  none. 

Several  times  hints  were  given  to  the  latter,  by 
those  who  acted  in  the  interests  of  general  peace, 
that  a  day  of  reckoning  might  come  to  him.  But  he 
considered  himself  in  luck  in  having  so  simple  an 
enemy,  and  stayed  on.  He  did  not  know  his  man ; 
that  was  the  general  comment.  More  than  once, 
when  Jack  was  absent  on  his  apparently  fruitless 
expeditions  to  the  mountains,  a  tall  figure  that 
looked  like  his  had  been  seen  by  some  sentinel 
walking  his  beat  to  approach  the  cabin,  and  to  glide 
noiselessly  away  in  the  darkness. 

One  starry  October  night,  when  Jack  had  been 
gone  only  since  the  morning,  he  suddenly  walked 
in  among  the  story-tellers  and  poker-players  at  the 
sutler's  store.  All  turned  toward  him,  with  inquiry 
and  surprise  in  their  faces.  He  looked  very  grim, 
and  closed  the  door  carefully  behind  him.  "  Men," 
he  said,  abruptly,  "come  along  with  me  now,  an' 
I'll  answer  the  questions  ye  've  been  loolcin'  at  me 


206  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

for  more  'n  a  month.  An'  purvidin'  I  don't  do 
notliiii'  desp'rit,  will  ye  agree  not  to  interfere  ?" 

A  lialf-looked  and  lialf-spoken  answer  was  given, 
and  four  men  went  out  with  Jack,  among  whom 
certain  uniforms  did  not  disdain  to  appear.  At  the 
door  he  untied  a  donkey,  such  as  are  common  in  the 
country,  and  drove  the  animal  before  him  toward 
the  cabin.  The  hunter  was  foremost,  and  without 
ceremony  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered.  At 
the  same  moment,  with  the  dexterity  of  long  prac- 
tice, he  whipped  out  of  its  place  the  inevitable 
revolver,  with  three  strides  was  across  the  room, 
and  in  a  moment  after  the  monte-dealer  was  looking 
down  the  bore  of  it  with  an  expression  of  counte- 
nance which  indicated  that  he  regarded  it  as  being 
several  inches  in  diameter. 

"IN^ow,''  said  Jack,  in  the  peculiar  tone  which 
indicates  earnestness  without  any  doubt,  ^^  My  time 
has  come.  You  an'  this  woman  must  git  up  an'  go 
right  along  with  me.  Mister,  you  orter  know  me. 
If  ye  want  to  shoot,  ye  kin  hev  a  chance ;  but  I'm 
apt  to  hit,  an'  I'll  try,  so  help  me  God." 

This  fearful  adjuration  was  uttered,  not  as  the 
common  profanity  of  an  angry  man,  but  in  a  tone 
and  manner  that  gave  it  a  fearful  meaning.  "Git 
up,"  said  he,  as  the  gambler,  with  paling  face, 
seemed  to  say  something  conciliatory.  He  arose 
instantly.  "Kow,"  for  the  first  time  addressing 
tlie  woman,  ''git  your  traps  together.  Quick,"  he 
said  sharply,  as  she  seemed  to  hesitate,  "ye  shell 
hev  yer  lover's  company  from  this  night  to  all  etar- 


JACK'S  DIVORCE.  207 

Though  a  scene  in  which  the  comic  was  not  alto- 
gether wanting,  tliere  was  still  something  terrible  in 
it.  The  woman,  her  olive  roses  blanched  with  ter- 
ror, moved  about,  gathering  her  apparel  into  a  bun- 
dle. The  gambler  glanced  furtively  at  the  door, 
and  at  his  own  weapon  lying  upon  the  table.  But 
Jack's  eye  was  upon  him,  and  the  implacable  weapon 
was  in  his  hand.  Finally  he  placed  his  hand  in  his 
bosom  and  drew  forth  a  plethoric  bag,  opened  it, 
and  poured  some  of  the  shining  pieces  into  his 
liand.  Frightened  as  she  undoubtedly  was,  a  glitter 
came  into  the  woman's  eyes  as  she  saw  them. 
There  was  no  situation  in  life  in  which  the  chink  of 
the  dollars  would  not  be  music  to  her.  But  Jack's 
face  only  changed  to  take  on  a  look  of  intense  con- 
tempt, as  his  euemy  pitifully  offered  him  first  the 
handful  and  then  the  bag.  He  was  again  mistaken 
in  his  man. 

When  the  woman  at  last  stood  with  her  bundle 
in  her  hand.  Jack  pointed  to  the  door,  and  bade  her 
and  the  gambler  move  out  together.  He  caused 
the  woman  to  mount  the  diminutive  donkey,  and  the 
gambler  walked  behind. 

Straight  up  the  slanting  mountain-side  they 
started,  the  implacable  husband  taking  the  gam- 
bler's weapon  from  the  table  as  he  left  the  room. 
Away  in  the  starlit  gloom  the  strange  procession 
passed,  and  as  the  donkey  picked  his  careful  way 
among  the  stones,  plodding  safely  and  patiently 
after  the  manner  of  his  kind,  the  last  sounds  the 
bystanders  heard  were  the  wailing  and  sobbing 
of  the  woman,  the  stumbling  footsteps  of  the  gam- 


208  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


bier,  and,  behind  all.  Jack's  long  and  steady  stride. 
And  all  these  died  away  in  the  distance,  and  in  the 
silence  of  the  night  the  witnesses  of  the  scene  stood 
at  the  door  of  the  deserted  cabin,  and  looked  at 
each  other,  and  afterwards  went  back  to  the  store, 
each  one  privately  gratified,  and  none  caring  to 
say  so. 

After  three  or  four  days  Jack  returned  empty- 
handed.  He  was  questioned  now,  for  human  curi- 
osity cannot  be  restrained  forever.  A  grim  humor 
was  in  his  face  as  he  said:  "I've  purvided  for  'em. 
They've  meat  enough  for  three  weeks;"  adding, 
"any  of  you  as  wus  particularly  fond  of  him  air 
informed  that  he  wus  well  wen  I  kim  away,  o'ny  a 
leetle  lonesome.  But  he  don't  know  enough  to  find 
his  way  back  here,  an'  I  reckon  he'll  hev  to  fight 
now." 

And  Jack  thereupon  cleaned  his  pistols,  got 
together  such  things  as  hunters  carry,  said  he  be- 
lieved he'd  "go  back  to  Californy,"  and  at  sunrise 
started  out  upon  that  pathless  journey  toward  the 
northwest,  that  to  him  was  only  a  question  of  time 
and  life,  and  has  not  been  heard  of  to  this  day. 

Some  months  after  this,  the  Mexican  guide  of  a 
scouting  party  led  the  soldiers,  hungry,  bewildered, 
and  parched  with  thirst,  to  where  he  said  there  was, 
years  before,  a  spring  among  the  rocks.  They 
found  it,  and  near  it  a  deserted  "dug-out."  From 
this  to  the  spring  a  well-worn  path  was  made. 
When  he  saw  it,  the  eyes  of  the  professional  trainer 
opened  wide,  but  when  he  approached  the  hut  he 
threw  up  his  hands  with  a  gesture  of  extreme  aston- 


JACK'S  DIVORCE.  209 

isliment,  exclaiming,  ^'Madre  de  Dios ! — it  was  a 
woman !" 

Upon  the  floor  still  lay  the  sodden  fragments  of 
a  woman's  shawl,  and  not  far  away  the  coyote- 
gnawed  remains  of  a  man's  boot.  What  had  become 
of  the  late  residents  of  the  lonesome  place,  no  one 
could  tell.  But  here  at  last  was  Jack's  mystery; 
the  house  that  he  built  for  them,  and  in  which  Dolo- 
res and  her  last  lover  met  a  fate  that  will  never  be 
known. 

There  have  been  men  very  like  Othello,  who 
never  heard  of  Shakspeare.  But  the  Dolores  and 
the  Desdemonas  do  not  greatly  resemble  each  other, 
—  at  least  not  in  New  Mexico. 


XL 
COYOTES. 

HE  has  been  called  an  outcast  by  a  notorious 
poet.  He  is  universally  conceded  to  be  a 
sneak,  a  thief,  and  an  arrant  coward.  He  is  a  lier- 
by  by  day,  and  a  wanderer  o'  nights ;  a  dissipated 
wretch  in  whose  whole  history  there  is  not  a  redeem- 
ing trait.  He  has  an  extensive  connection,  but  no 
family.  He  is  disowned  by  the  dogs,  and  not  recog- 
nized at  all  by  respectable  foxes.  The  gaunt  gray 
wolf  who  sends  his  hoarse  voice  across  the  ravine  in 
a  howl  the  'most  dismal  and  harrowing  that  ever  dis- 
turbed midnight  and  silence,  will  have  no  fellowship 
with  the  little  thief  who  seems  to  have  stolen  his 
gray  coat,  and  would  fain  be  counted  among  his 
poor  relations. 

And  yet  the  coyote  is  the  representative  animal 
of  the  border.  It  is  his  triangular  visage,  his  sharp 
muzzle,  especially  fitted  for  the  easy  investigation 
of  the  smallest  aperture  into  other  people's  affairs, 
his  oblique,  expressionless  eyes,  that  should  have  a 
place  in  the  adornment  of  escutcheons  and  the 
embellishment  of  title-pages.  The  buffalo,  who  is 
his  successful  rival  in  such  matters,  occupies  the 
place  because  his  shaggy  stupid  head  is  big;  but 
the  buffalo  is  not  the  representative  of  anything 
more  than  stupid  ponderosity.     He  has  roamed  in 

210     . 


COYOTES.  211 


countless  thousands  over  his  plains  for  hundreds  of 
years,  and  during  all  that  time  he  has  never  even 
bellowed.  There  is  no  degree  of  pleasure,  anger, 
excitement  or  passion  that  can  induce  him  to  make 
a  sound  other  than  a  guttural  groaning  that  ill 
becomes  his  size.  That  great  equipment  of  lungs 
and  throat  and  nostrils  is  good  for  nothing  in  acous- 
tics, and  while  he  might  make  the  valleys  to  echo, 
and  might  almost  shake  the  hills,  he  spends  his  life 
in  galloping,  fighting,  butting  at  sandbanks,  and  eat- 
ing. Especially  does  he  affect  the  latter.  His  life 
is  one  long  process  of  deglutition  and  rumination. 
He  never  stole  anything.  He  never  made  the  moon- 
lit hours  hideous  for  love  of  his  own  voice.  Colos- 
sal in  size  and  fearful  of  aspect,  he  is  yet  so  dull  as 
to  be  incapjj3le  of  self-defence.  Kone  but  a  great 
booby  would  deliberately  get  himself  exterminated 
by  running  alongside  of  a  slow-going  railway  train, 
to  be  shot  by  kid-glove  sportsmen,  and  even  by 
women,  three  or  four  score  times,  in  the  back,  with 
silver-mounted  pocket  pistols.  His  stupidity  is 
illustrated  every  day  by  the  countless  bleaching 
skulls  and  faded  tufts  of  brown  hair  which  mark  his 
death-place  at  the  hands  of  people  to  whom  the 
riding  of  a  mustang  would  be  an  impossible  thing 
and  the  killing  of  a  jackass  rabbit  a  wonderful  feat 
of  skill  and  valor. 

Kot  so  his  neighbor  and  actual  master,  the 
coyote.  He  will  lengthen  out  the  days  of  his  years 
until  his  voice  sounds  hollow  and  thin  and  aged  in 
the  watches  of  the  night.  N'othing  but  infinite 
pains  and  insidious  strychnine  will  end  his  vagabond 


212  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

life.  As  his  gray  back  moves  slowly  along  at  a 
leisurely  trot  above  tlie  tall  reeds  and  coarse  grass, 
and  he  turns  his  sly  face  over  his  shoulder  to  regard 
you,  he  knows  at  once  if  you  have  with  you  a  gun. 
The  coyote  is  a  reflective  brute,  and  has  an  inquir- 
ing mind.  Only  convince  him  of  the  fact  that  you 
are  unarmed,  and  he  proceeds  to  interview  you  in 
a  way  that,  for  politeness  and  unobtrusiveness,  is 
recommended  as  a  model  to  some  certainly  more 
intelligent  but  slightly  less  obtrusive  animals. 

As  he  sets  himself  complacently  down  upon  his 
tail  at  the  summit  of  the  nearest  knoll,  and  lolls  his 
red  tongue,  and  seems  to  wink  in  your  direction,  he 
is  so  much  like  his  cousin,  the  dog,  that  you  can 
hardly  refrain  from  whistling  to  him.  Make  any 
hostile  demonstration,  and  he  moves*  a  few  paces 
further  on,  and  sits  down  again.  Lie  down  in  the 
grass  and  remain  quiet  for  a  little  time,  and  by 
slyly  watching  him  out  of  the  corner  of  your  eye 
you  will  discovxn-  that  he  has  been  joined  by  a  half- 
dozen  of  his  brethren  and  friends.  Slowly  they 
come  creeping  nearer  and  nearer,  and  are  cautiously 
investing  you  upon  all  sides.  Our  curious  friend 
has  an  object  in  all  this,  aside  from  mere  frivolous 
curiosity.  He  knows  that  all  flesh  is  grass,  and  now 
wishes  to  find  out — first,  if  you  are  dead;  and 
second,  supposing  you  are  not,  if  there  is  anything 
else  in  your  neighborhood  that  is  eatable.  You  rise 
up  in  sudden  indignation,  and  scare  the  committee 
away.  In  such  case  you  have  oifended  the  coyote 
family  deeply,  and  they  retire  to  a  safe  distance,  and 
bark  ceaselessly  until  they  have  hooted  you  out  of 


COYOTES.  213 


the  neighborhood.  Thiit  night  he  and  his  friends 
will  come  and  steal  the  straps  from  your  saddle,  the 
boots  from  under  your  head,  the  jneat  from  the 
frying-pan  (and  politely  clean  the  pan),  and  the 
pony's  bridle.  ^IS^othing  that  was  originally  of  ani- 
mal organization,  or  that  has  the  faintest  flavor  of 
grease,  though  it  be  but  the  merest  reminiscence, 
comes  amiss  to  him.  Through  a  thousand  variations 
in  his  family  history,  and  through  all  the  vicissitudes 
of  a  hap-hazard  life,  the  disposition  to  be  continually 
gnawing  something  remains  unchanged.  There  is 
no  more  formidable  array  of  ivory  than  liis,  and  his 
greatest  delight  is  ever  to  have  something  rancid 
between  his  teeth. 

There  is  a  distant  collateral  branch  of  this  exten- 
sive family,  which  has  been  for  ages  noted  for  the 
artistic  and  incomparable  roguery  of  all  its  members. 
The  first  beast  with  which  a  child  becomes  acquainted 
is  the  fox.  lie  has,  since  that  far  dawn  of  intelli- 
gence in  which  illustration  became,  as  it  is  still,  the 
chief  means  of  teaching,  illustrated  more  pretty 
fables  than  all  other  beasts.  He  has  beautified  more 
stories  and  picture-books,  and  employed  more  artis- 
tic skill.  In  reality  he  possesses  but  one  advantage 
over  the  coyote,  and  that  consists  in  his  proverbial 
swiftness  of  foot.  His  brush  is  no  bigger  or  bushier, 
and  his  coat  no  grayer  or  thicker.  Probably  neither 
of  these  rivals  in  the  science  of  thievery  can  lay  any 
great  claim  to  personal  beauty,  and,  considering  his 
want  of  speed,  the  coyote  is  the  better  beast  of  the 
two,  in  the  particular  industry  in  the  pursuit  of 
which  they  are  both  distinguished. 


214  FRONTIER   ARMY  SKETCHES. 


Upon  the  great  plains  of  the  Southwest,  and  in 
tlie  mountains  of  New  Mexico,  one  is  sometimes 
puzzled  to  know  where  a  beast  so  wanting  in  ferocity 
and  so  slow  of  foot  can  possibly  obtain  his  daily 
provender.  The  truth  is  that  he  has  to  live  by  his 
wits.  Ko  one  ever  saw  a  starved  coyote.  He  does 
not  confine  himself  to  any  particular  diet,  and  wher- 
ever he  may  wander  or  rest  he  is  evidently  alwaj^s 
intent  upon  his  next  meal.  He  would  greatly  dis- 
tinguish himself  in  that  ancient  industry,  tlie  robbing 
of  hen-roosts  and  the  abduction  of  domestic  fowls, 
only  there  are  none  in  his  dominion  to  steal.  But 
he  is  not  discouraged,  and  does  not  abandon  his 
profession  on  that  account.  He  has  the  Chinaman's 
epicurean  fancy  for  birds'  nests,  and  follows  the 
mountain  quail  to  her  bundle  of  twigs,  and  daintily 
laps  the  inner  sweets  of  a  dozen  eggs,  and  retires 
like  a  man  from  a  free  lunch,  slyly  wiping  his  chops 
with  his  tongue.  In  the  dead  hours  of  the  night  he 
creeps  upon  the  covey  resting  in  the  coarse  grass, 
their  tails  together  and  their  heads  beneath  their 
wings,  and  even  the  wary  old  whistler  who  leads  his 
interesting  family  daily  over  the  intricate  miles  of 
their  habitat  himself  dozing,  and  throwing  his 
sprawling  forepaws  suddenly  over  as  many  as  he 
can,  leaves  the  rest  to  whirr  screaming  away  in  the 
darkness,  and  learn  from  him  a  lesson  in  family 
vigilance  for  the  future. 

The  jackass  rabbit,  doomed  to  fame  partly  on 
account  of  his  grotesque  auricular  development,  but 
also  because  of  his  beady  eyes,  his  supposed  foolish- 
ness,  and  his   extraordinary   swiftness   in   continual 


COYOTES.  215 


races  with  the  only  thing  that  can  keep  anywhere 
near  him — his  own  shadow, — frequently  falls  a 
victim  to  the  cunning  of  this  marauder,  at  whom, 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  he  might  be  supposed 
to  sit  upon  his  hinder  legs  and  smile  derisively. 
Jack  is  sometimes  tempted  by  a  damp  and  shady 
nook  to  lie  upon  his  back  like  a  squirrel,  and,  with 
his  ears  conveniently  doubled  under  him  and  his 
gaunt  legs  in  the  air,  to  sleep  too  soundly.  Then 
the  coyote  creeps  cautiously  upon  him,  licking  his 
lips,  and  as  silent  as  though  his  voice  had  never 
waked  the  lugubrious  echoes.  He  may  be  an  hour 
in  the  task,  but  finally  makes  a  spring  not  the  less 
effective  because  it  is  very  awkward,  and  the  poor 
rabbit  takes  subjectiv^ely  his  last  lesson  in  gnawing. 
The  virtue  of  perseverance  shines  brightly  in  the 
coyote.  All  these  things  require  an  inexhaustible 
fund  of  patience.  Of  course,  he  fails  in  many  of  his 
nefarious  designs,  but  none  the  less  does  he  try,  try 
again.  There  is  a  notable  instance  in  which  this 
quality  alone  brings  him  victory,  and  that  is  in  his 
contest  with  the  buffalo.  In  this,  since  the  supply 
of  meat  must  necessarily  be  large,  he  makes  com- 
mon cause  with  all  his  hungry  relatives.  The  old 
bull,  after  many  years  of  leadership,  and  after  becom- 
ing the  father  of  a  horde  of  ungrateful  descendants, 
is  finally  driven  forth  by  the  strong  necks  and  ingrat- 
itude of  his  younger  associates,  and  ruminates  with 
two  or  three  of  his  own  class,  retired  patriarchs, 
while  the  herd  wanders  afar. off  and  forgetful.  Then 
the  coyotes  take  him  in  charge.  Wherever  he.  goes 
they  follow.     He  dare  not  lie  down,  and  weariness 


216  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

helps  to  overcome  liim.  Finally  they  begin  to  har- 
ass him  openly,  and  with  increasing  boldness  A 
gray  assassin  is  upon  every  hand.  The  buffalo  is 
too  imperturbable  a  brute  to  succumb  to  mere  bark- 
ing, and  his  enemies  finally  begin  to  bite.  The  con- 
test may  last  several  days,  and  be  fought  over  a 
territory  many  miles  in  extent.  But  the  old  monster 
is  worried,  crippled,  and  finally  brought  down,  and 
a  snarling  feast  is  begun,  which  is  continued  until 
the  last  bone  is  picked  bare.  The  beef  is  none  of 
the  best,  but  our  friend  is  content  with  substantial 
blessings. 

But  all  the  coyote's  otlier  modes  of  obtaining  a 
livelihood  are  mere  by -play  to  the  great  business  of 
his  life,  which  is  stealing.  For  a  long  time  it  has 
been  supposed  that  a  cat  approaching  the  cream-jar, 
and  a  weasel  intent  upon  coveted  eggs,  were  the 
ideals  of  sly  cunning  and  predatory  silence.  But  it 
is  time  our  coyote  should  have  his  due ;  and  there 
is  no  doubt  that,  in  the  exercise  of  a  preternatural 
talent  for  silent  appropriation,  he  excels  all  the 
sharp-smelling  and  light-footed  night- wanderers.  He 
has  a  curious  jpenchant  for  harness,  rawhide,  boots, 
thongs,  saddles,  and  old  leather  generally.  He 
gnaws  the  twisted  raw-hide  lariat  from  the  pony's 
neck,  and  bodily  drags  away  the  saddle  and  chews 
it  beyond  recognition  by  the  owner.  He  enters  the 
open  barrack  window,  and  steals  the  accoutrements 
from  the  soldier's  bed-side  and  the  shoes  from  under 
the  bed.  He  will  walk  backward  a  mile,  and  draw 
after  him  a  raw-hide  that  is  dry  and  juiceless  as  a 
board.     It  would   seem   that  he  did   not   all   these 


COYOTES.  217 


eccentric  things  for  the  sake  of  food  alone.  In  the 
majority  of  instances,  the  articles  are  beyond  masti- 
cation even  bv  a  coyote's  tireless  jaws.  He  steals, 
as  men  do,  because  he  is  a  born  thief.  He  is  greatly 
gifted  in  every  accessory  of  his  chosen  profession. 
In  the  olfactory  sense  he  is  a  phenomenon.  The 
savory  odor  of  the  camp-fire  frying-pan  reaches  him 
at  an  inconceivable  distance.  With  drooping  tail 
and  abject  head,  he  comes  stealthily  near  like  a  wil- 
derness phantom,  and  his  appearance  in  the  dark- 
ness is  the  very  picture  of  treachery.  He  is  patient, 
and  will  not  be  driven  far,  but  sits  down  a  hundred 
yards  away,  he  and  all  his  kin,  and  invests  the 
encampment,  and  longingly  licks  his  lips,  and  waits. 
Ere  long,  the  little  bright  fire,  that  is  like  a  glow- 
worm in  the  wide  darkness,  and  the  tired,  lounging 
figures  around  it,  are  surrounded  by  a  cordon  of 
patient,  harmless,  hungry  thieves,  who  lick  their 
jaws  and  faintly  whine  in  expectation. 

These  are  the  times,  and  only  these,  w^ien  the 
coyote  is  silent.  Upon  all  other  occasions  his  voice 
is  his  pride  and  gh^ry,  and  he  sits  upon  his  tail,  and 
throws  back  his  head  in  the  ecstasy  of  discord,  and 
gives  it  to  tiie  wind  and  the  night  in  a  rapid  succes- 
sion of  discordant  yelps  which  seem  ceaseless  for 
hours  together.  Indeed,  the  coyote's  bark  is  the 
prominent  feature  of  night  in  tlie  wilderness.  To 
one  unaccustomed  to  it,  sleep  is  impossible.  In 
spite  of  the  knowledge  of  the  brute's  cowardice  and 
general  harmlessness,  it  is  impossible  to  banish  rest- 
lessness   and  some  feeling  of  fear.      After  the  fire 


218  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

dies  out,  as  the  sleepless  and  discordant  hours  pass, 
you  long  for  morning  and  peace. 

Coyotes  and  Indians  are  supposed  to  be  on  good 
terms  always.  They  are  somewliat  alike  in  general 
characteristics,  and  have  a  supposed  mutuality  of 
interests.  They  both  object  to  the  invasion  of  the 
white  man,  and  both  are  contemporary  occupants  of 
a  country  that  cannot  long  remain  tlie  home  of 
either.  But  the  coyote's  dislike  to  the  invader 
seems  to  be  only  an  unreasonable  prejudice,  for  he 
has  been  furnished  more  feasts  upon  tlie  carcasses  Of 
causelessly-slaughtered  buffaloes  in  a  single  year 
than  the  Indian  would  have  given  him  in  ten. 

But  our  gray-coated  friend  makes  a  near  approacli 
to  respectability  in  one  item  :  he  is  a  creature  of 
family,  for  whom  he  duly  provides.  Any  morning 
in  early  spring,  upon  some  dry  knoll,  may  be  seen 
three  or  four  little  dun-colored  stupid^looking  cubs, 
lazily  enjoying  the  warmth.  At  the  slightest  alarm 
they  tumble,  with  more  alacrity  than  gracefulness, 
into  the  mouth  of  the  den,  from  which  they  never 
wander  far,  and  many  hours  patient  digging  will 
not  U'Uearth  them.  Kot  far  away  may  be  seen  the 
mother,  uneasily  watching  the  course  of  the  intrud- 
er's footsteps.  But  provision  for  the  support  of  a 
family  is  not  carried  so  far  as  it  is  with  the  foxes. 
There  are  but  few  delicate  morsels  carried  to  the 
den,  and  the  adolescent  thief  must  mainly  subsist 
upon  his  mother's  scanty  udders  until  he  has 
attained  his  teeth  and  his  voice,  when  he  is  launched 
upon  the  wilderness  world  fully  equipped  by  nature 
and  instinct  for  the  practice  of  all  the  variations  of 


COYOTES.  219 


music  and  theft,  and  to  follow  in  the  disreputable 
ways  of  all  his  ancestors. 

He  is  a  brute  who  is  entitled  to  respect  for  his 
very  persistent  and  professional  course  of  knavery. 
He  understands  his  business,  and  follows  it.  He 
makes  a  success  of  it.  Contemptible  in  body  and 
countless  in  numbers,  he  forages  fatness  from  things 
so  despised  of  all  others  that  he  becomes  almost  a 
producer  upon  the  just  plan  of  cooperative  industry. 
He  is  utterly  careless  of  the  contempt  that  all  other 
beasts  seem  to  feel  for  him,  waiting  for  his  revenge 
for  the  time  of  their  feebleness  and  decay.  Like  all 
cowards,  he  can  fight  desperately  when  he  must, 
and  there  is  many  an  ugly  scar  of  his  making.  Win- 
ter and  summer,  in  heat  and  cold,  he  wags  his  way 
along  the  prairie  paths  with  the  same  drooping, 
quick-turning,  watchful  head,  the  same  lolling  red 
tongue,  the  same  bushy  ornament  trailing  behind, 
ever  mindful  of  a  coyote's  aifairs,  ever  looking  for 
supper,  the  figure-head,  the  feature,  the  representa- 
tive of  the  wide  and  desolate  country  of  which  he 
comes  more  nearly  being  master  than  any  other. 


XII. 

A  GUAED-HOUSE  GENTLEMAN. 

XIEUTENANT  CHAELES  SMYTHE  —  Smith, 
-^  all  the  same,  but  S  my  the  looks  better  in  the 
register — was  commandant  of  the  post,  and  unques- 
tioned autocrat  of  a  territory  comprising  sixteen 
square  miles  of  trap-rock,  mesquit^  and  sand.  But 
supreme  authority  was  never  vested  in  one  more 
unappreciative  of  its  privileges  and  responsibili- 
ties —  possibly  because  he  was  so  seldom  called 
upon  to  exercise  his  prerogative  that  he  almost 
forgot  his  distinguished  position.  Certainly  his 
thoughts  were  very  far  from  all  troubles  of  this 
kind  that  July  morning,  as  he  sat  in  the  inner  room 
at  the  trader's  store,  sole  occupant  of  the  apart- 
ment. There  was  a  round  pine  table,  covered  with 
a  red  artillery  blanket,  and  the  earthen  floor  had 
been  swept  away  until  each  leg  stood  upon  a  little 
pedestal  of  earth.  Many  a  game  of  ''poker"  had 
been  played  there,  and  the  small  box  of  "beans" 
still  sat  upon  the  cloth  ;  but  the  useful  piece  of  fur- 
niture had  its  sole  office  at  this  moment  in  being 
a  rest  for  the  lieutenant's  feet.  He  was  trying  to 
read  a  copy  of  the  "Herald,"  very  new  in  being 
only  three  weeks  old  ;  but  his  eyes  wandered  away 
from  the  dull  columns,  through  the  small  window, 
and  out  upon  the  foot-hills  shimmering  in  the  sun- 

220 


A   GUARD-HOUSE   GENTLEMAN.  221 

light  and  the  blue  Sierras  with  their  streaks  of  snow. 
The  air  was  heavy  with  silence.  There  were  no 
bees  to  hum,  and  no  twittering  of  small  birds  added 
cheerfulness  to  the  time.  Only  occasionally,  near 
the  spring,  the  spiritless  yellow-breasted  and  fidgety 
little  lark,  who  seems  to  be  careless  of  all  climates 
between  Maine  and  Texas,  sat  and  swayed  upon  a 
tall  weed.  The  usual  ravens  sailed  in  lazy  circles, 
or  sat  in  rows  upon  the  ledges,  and  sociably  croaked 
to  each  other.  And  these  were  the  only  living 
things.  But  the  commandant  was  not  taking  any 
lively  interest  in  these  irresponsible  denizens  of  his 
dominion.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  saw  them  at  all,  for 
his  mind  was  boozing  in  one  of  those  inane  reveries 
that  are  the  precursors  of  sleep.  The  ''Herald" 
slipped  from  his  fingers,  and  a  faint  wish  that  it  was 
night  half  developed  itself  in  his  indolent  head. 
Then,  remembering  his  dignity,  perhaps,  he  roused 
himself  enough  to  yawn,  and  to  remark  to  the  group 
of  deliberative  ravens  that  he  wished  something 
would  happen.  Whereupon  something  did  happen, 
which,  in  that  dull  region,  was  enough  to  keep  him 
awake  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  It  was  a  cii'cum- 
stance  wholly  unimportant  in  itself  that  attracted  his 
attention,  for  it  was  only  the  sound  of  a  voice  from 
the  outer  room.  Voices  are  common  enough,  and 
there  has  even  arisen  an  opinion  that  there  may  bfe 
upon  occasion  too  much  of  them.  JS'early  every 
individual  has  one  of  his  own,  and  some  of  them 
are  harsh  and  some  are  soft,  but  each  is  characteris- 
tic of  its  possessor.  As  there  are  eyes  that  are 
never  deceived  in  the  recognition  of  a  face,  so  there 


222  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

are  ears  that  remember  voices  that  were  lieard  casu- 
ally months  or  years  before.  Generally  such  voices 
have  some  marked  peculiarity  of  their  own;  and 
such  was  the  case  here.  The  tones  were  low,  per- 
fectly polite,  and  the  accent  was  that  of  a  German 
educated  in  the  English  tongue.  At  first  the  com- 
mandant listened  through  the  open  door,  with  only 
that  degree  of  interest  which  attaches  to  a  stranger 
in  a  locality  where  strangers  are  infrequent.  Then  it 
began  to  remind  him  very  dimly  of  something  or  some 
one  more  than  a  thousand  miles  away.  Finally,  as 
he  sat  there  with  one  hand  upon  the  back  of  his 
chair  and  the  other  upon  the  table  before  him,  and 
in  an  attitude  that  indicated  a  hesitating  suspicion, 
the  whole  scene  came  to  him  like  a  remembered 
dream.  Moments  accomplish  these  things  in  real- 
ity, and  they  are  by  no  means  worked  out  in  the 
dull  words  it  is  necessary  to  use  here.  The  inspect- 
or's office  at  Fort  Leavenworth;  the  group  of  officers 
who  sat  there,  and  among  them,  yet  far  off,  the  man 
whose  voice  he  seemed  now  to  hear  as  he  heard  it 
then,  as  he  stood  in  the  constrained  position  of 
''attention,"  his  bright  black  eye  and  regular  fea- 
tures marking  him  more  distinctly  from  his  humble 
position,  his  concise  answers  and  clear  definitions 
imparting  information  to  his  superiors,  and  leaving 
the  impression  upon  the  casual  visitor  that  one 
August  Stein,  private  in  the  5th  U.  S.  Infantry, 
though  but  a  detailed  clerk,  was  perhaps  the  ablest 
man  in  the  office  of  the  inspector  general  of  the 
Department  of  the  Missouri.  But  it  was  not  from 
these  things  alone  that  the  listener  remembered  the 


A    GUARD-HOUSE   GENTLEMAN.  223 

man  whose  voice  he  thought  he  heard.  It  was 
partly  from  the  peculiar  look  darted  after  him  like 
lightning  as  he  left  the  room,  which,  seen  again 
under  any  circumstances,  would  mark  the  man.  It 
is  the  look  which  distinguishes  that  class  of  men,  of 
which  there  are  fortunately  few,  who  for  a  sufficient 
stake  will  face  any  danger  and  commit  any  crime, 
who  disdain  all  law  as  not  meant  for  them,  who  may 
even  fascinate  when  they  will,  and  who  are  the 
Machiavellis  of  social  life. 

And  this  was  undoubtedly  the  voice  of  Stein. 
The  five  years  of  his  enlistment  could  not  have 
expired.  His  regiment  was  stationed  four  hundred 
miles  away.  Discharged  for  disability,  he  would 
hardly  come  to  these  ends  of  the  earth  for  a  home, 
and  —  the  gentlemanly  soldier  was  a  deserter.  This 
was  why  the  commandant  listened  and  hesitated, 
why  he  doubted  if  it  were  not  better  and  more  mer- 
ciful to  let  the  soldier  go,  and  keep  the  secret.  For, 
as  his  mind  threaded  out  the  story,  he  remembered 
all  his  former  impressions  of  the  man,  and  among 
them  that  he  was  one  to  whom  the  ranks  would  be 
insufferable  —  a  humiliation  nearly  always  ended  at 
last  by  the  only  way  possible.  As  he  thought  of  all 
this  in  his  listening  attitude,'  he  nodded  his  head  in 
final  certainty,  and' said  as  to  himself,  "I  thought 
so  —  I  am  not  mistaken." 

There  was  a  feeling  of  regret,  not  entirely 
acknowledged  to  himself,  that  this  man's  evil  genius 
had  brought  him  so  near  the  only  one  by  whom  he 
could  possibly  be  recognized.  Here  was  a  voice 
betraying   its    owner   at   an    inconceivable  distance 


224  FRONTIER  AR3IY  SKETCHES. 

from  where  it  had  last  been  heard,  and  that  owner 
entirely  ignorant  that  his  unconscious  gift  was  about 
to  bring  upon  him  his  life's  greatest  misfortune  and 
disgrace.  Here,  after  travel  and  toil,  at  this  last 
stopping-place  in  the  wilderness,  with  freedom  and 
safety  in  view,  were  to  begin  those  troubles  that 
would  probably  end  in  the  Tortugas.  As  the  com- 
mandant pondered  these  things,  the  voice  ceased, 
and  he  rose  and  entered  the  room  as  the  stranger 
turned  to  go  out.  A  glance  lighting  into  a  gleam  of 
recognition  in  the  peculiar  eyes,  and  down  toward 
the  canon,  through  the  sage,  Stein  was  gone  like  a 
flash,  with  all  the  vigor  and  determination  that 
belong  to  such  men.  Immediately  in  front  of  the 
door  stood  a  train  of  laden  asses,  whose  burdens 
were  baskets,  bags,  and  household  utensils.  Stand- 
ing near  were  three  or  four  Mexicans,  and  mounted 
upon  one  was  a  woman  whose  shawl  had  fallen  from 
her  face,  and  who  watched  the  flight  with  clasped 
hands  and  startled  manner.  These  things  the  com- 
mandant took  in  at  a  glance.  They  were  common. 
In  this  country,  no  man  travelled  alone,  unless  it 
were  in  some  desperate  emergency  in  which  safety 
was  of  secondary  importance ;  and  here,  he  thought, 
were  a  travelling  party  in  whose  company  the 
deserter  had  reached  the  post.  His  flight,  cause- 
less under  any  ordinary  circumstances,  had  a 
strange  effect  upon  the  girl.  Her  brown  cheeks 
blanched,  and  as  she  watched  the  fast  retreating 
figure  her  eyes  had  in  them  a  kind  of  desperate 
look. 

Stein's  flight  was  in  full  view  of  the  half-dozen 


A   GUARD-HOUSE   GENTLEMAN.  225 

soldiers  who  stood  beside  the  sally-port.  They 
understood  the  situation,  and  at  the  merest  sign 
from  the  commandant  three  or  four  of  them  were  in 
pursuit.  The  girl  slipped  from  her  donkey,  and, 
with  frantic  gestures  and  a  torrent  of  Spanish, 
attempted  to  hinder  their  progress.  Almost  heed- 
less of  her  presence,  they  passed  on,  and  she  sat 
upon  the  ground  with  covered  face,  and  rocked  her- 
self to  and  fro.  Her  companions  looked  stupidly 
on,  and,  apparently  regardless  of  either  her  or  the 
fugitive,  awaited  results. 

In  half  an  hour  the  deserter  had  lost  in  one  of 
the  most  desperate  ventures  of  life,  and  had  taken 
his  place  in  the  guard-house  among  men  as  des- 
perate and  hardened  as  common  crimes  and  mis- 
fortunes ever  placed  in  chains  together.  But  before 
he  entered  there,  the  woman,  who  seemed  in  some 
degree  to  have  regained  her  composure,  found 
means  to  come  near  and  speak  to  him,  in  Spanish, 
words  which  the  commandant  did  hot  hear  and  no 
one  near  him  seemed  to  understand.  As  he  list- 
ened, there  seemed  to  come  into  his  melancholy 
face,  and  to  gleam  from  his  black  eyes,  a  new  hope 
and  purpose.  With  a  glance  eloquent  of  defiance 
and  hate,  which  took  in  at  once  the  commandant 
and  all  his  minions,  the  girl  turned  and  was  gone. 
The  handsome,  sinister,  defiant  face  he  remembered 
long  afterwards  in  connection  with  this  strange 
scene ;  and  though  she  watched  his  footsteps  from 
afar,  and  haunted  the  purlieus  of  his  command,  he 
was  ignorant  of  her  presence,  and  never  but  once, 
and    then  under  very   different   circumstances,   saw 


226  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

her  again.  Long  afterwards,  he  knew  that  she  had 
stayed  behind  ;  that  she  had  taken  up  her  residence 
with  the  Mexican  guide,  and  that  there,  with  all  the 
cunning  of  her  race  and  more  than  its  faithfulness, 
she  had  watched  and  waited. 

The  guard-house  of  a  frontier  post  is  one  of  the 
necessary  means  bj  which  the  few  control  the  many. 
It  is  not  a  light  and  airy  place.  There  are  no  soft 
luxuries  and  comforts  there,  and  idleness  is  un- 
known within  its  grimy  walls.  Had  he  been  a 
king's  son,  there  was  no  better  place  for  him;  and 
here  the  unfortunate  deserter  took  up  his  abode. 
The  commandant  passed  him  as  he  worked  among 
the  prisoners.  In  this  lonely  nook  of  the  desert,  the 
guard-house  gang,  as  they  sullenly  wandered  with 
clanking  chains  wherever  there  was  work  to  do,  was 
always  a  reminder  that  even  a  land  that  was  lacking 
in  every  feature  common  to  the  world  was  not  with- 
out its  crimes,  and  not  wanting  in  its  means  of 
punishment.  As  he  came  near,  the  prisoner  threw 
aside  his  broom,  and  asked  permission  to  speak. 

There  was  never  a  soldier  who  had  nothing 
whereof  to  complain  in  his  best  estate,  and  most 
certainly  even  a  deserter  can  urge  good  and  person- 
ally satisfactory  reasons  for  the  act.  This  was  what 
the  commandant  expected,  and  he  deemed  it  wise  to 
forestall  his  prisoner : 

"Are  you  not  a  deserter?"  said  he. 

"I  am,  but—'' 

"Are  you  not  aware  that  desertion,  according  to 
the  law  under  which  you  voluntarily  placed  yourself, 
is  not  a  remedy  for  wrong  and  admits  of  no  excuse  ?" 


A   GUARD-HOUSE   GENTLEMAN.  227 

"Certainly,  sir,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  make  any 
excuse.  I  only  wish  to  show  yoic^  if  possible,  that 
there  was  justification,  for  the  sake  of  your  good 
opinion.'''' 

Now,  words  like  these  the  commandant  had  never 
heard  spoken  by  one  man  to  another  under  like  cir- 
cumstances. Here  was  one  in  the  chain-gang,  guilty 
by  his  own  confession  of  a  crime  that  ought  to  keep 
him  there,  talking  of  "good  opinion."  The  com- 
mandant had  not  been  accustomed  to  think  that  an 
officer  had  any  opinion  whatever  of  a  private,  in  or 
out  of  the  guard-house ;  and  he  went  away  ponder- 
ing the  curious  case  he  had  gotten  upon  liis  hands  — 
a  man  with  the  jewelry  of  crime  upon  him,  still 
claiming  respect,  and  tacitly  advancing  his  claim  to 
be  regarded  as  a  gentleman  by  one  who  also  claimed 
that  distinction. 

Ere  long,  the  two  or  three  ladies  of  the  small 
garrison  began  to  inquire  concerning  a  very  good- 
looking  prisoner  who  had  been  seen  piling  wood  and 
carrying  slops  in  their  baek  areas.  Contrary  to 
orders  in  such  cases,  savory  morsels  were  passed  out 
to  him  through  windows,  and  dainty  meals  were 
enclosed  in  napkins  and  sent  to  him.  All  this  the 
commandant  saw  —  and  did  not  see.  Nay,  more; 
he  became  convinced  that  the  man  who  had  excited 
so  much  pity  was  daily  fed  from  his  own  table,  much 
to  the  envy  and  dissatisfaction  of  the  other  prison- 
ers, and  he,  the  commandant,  was  so  careless  that 
he  neither  saw  nor  heard. 

By  and  by  it  was  discovered  that  the  prisoner 
was  possessed  of  great  clerical  ability,  and  he  way 


228  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

placed  in  an  upper  room  so  constructed  that  a  win- 
dow opened  from  it  through  the  wall  to  the  outside 
of  the  post.  He  was  required  to  make  topographical 
drawings  and  to  copy  the  letters  of  the  post  adju- 
tant ;  and  in  order  that  he  might  be  near  his  work, 
he  was  allowed  to  sleep  in  his  room.  All  night  a 
sentinel  paced  to  and  fro  beneath  the  window,  and 
immediately  under  him  was  the  guard-room. 

As  time  passed,  little  by  little  his  story  came 
out,  all  of  which,  when  it  reached  their  ears,  the 
tender-hearted  ladies  of  the  garrison  did  religiously 
believe.  Much  as  his  condition  had  been  improved, 
it  was  a  pity  (said  they)  that  this  much-wronged  and 
much-enduring  man  (who  was  so  interesting  and  so 
handsome)  should  still  be  compelled  to  wear  a  ball 
and  chain.  Feminine  bets  were  freel}^  offered,  ten 
to  one  and  no  takers,  that  the  prisoner  would  not, 
and  indeed  could  not,  escape.  But  by  this  time  the 
commandant  had  received  circulars  from  headquar- 
ters, in  which  they  had  been  at  the  pains  to  print  a 
description  of  the  deserter,  with  especial  instructions 
for  his  appreliens.ion.  The  ladies  could  feed  and 
pity  the  unfortunate,  but,  for  a  wonder,  they  did  not 
succeed  in  ridding  him  of  the  odious  jewelry.  This 
was  particularly  set  down  against  the  hard-hearted 
Smythe,  who  had  much  to  silently  endure  at  their 
hands,  and  who  had  seen  with  what  vigor  a  pretty 
miss  of  twenty  could  govern  a  post,  and  had  known 
whole  districts  that  were,  in  his  private  and  unex- 
pressed opinion,  governed  by  the  commanding  offi- 
cer's wife.  But,  had  they  only  known  it,  the  ladies 
of  the  garrison  need  not  have  troubled  their  heads 


A    OUABD-HOUSE   GENTLEMAN.  229 

upon  this  point.  There  was  another  woman  equally 
interested  in  the  case,  in  comparison  with  whose 
efforts  theirs  were  as  nothing 

Mucli  against  his  will,  the  commandant  had  come 
to  know  that  the  prisoner  regarded  him  as  his  friend. 
He  was  no  thick-headed  military  machine,  who  takes 
all  things  for  granted.  He  did  not  say  it  or  act  it, 
but  it  was  apparent  nevertheless,  that  he  entirely 
understood  the  feeling  of  leniency,  sympathy,  or 
whatever  it  was  that  had  a  place  in  the  command- 
ant's mind,  close  beside  his  sense  of  duty  and  right. 
So  interesting  a  piece  of  humanity  had  the  deserter 
become,  with  his  skill,  his  good  looks,  and  his  influ- 
ential friends,  that  the  commandant  did  sincerely 
wish  he  had  never  seen  him.  But  there  was  at  least 
one  act  of  kindness  that  he  thought  he  could  show 
the  prisoner  with  perfect  consistency:  he  could 
counsel  him  in  regard  to  his  approaching  trial.  One 
day  he  off'ered  as  much,  and  the  deserter  showed 
him  an  elaborate  defence  to  be  used  on  that  occasion. 
He  had  imagined  with  astonishing  acuteness  every 
stage  of  the  prosecution.  Without  access  to  any  of 
the  books  upon  military  law,  he  had  remembered 
and  used  some  former  study  of  them  with  an  erudi- 
tion and  faculty  of  arrangement  which  caused  the 
amiable  commandant  to  retire  with  dignified  precipi- 
tancy from  the  position  of  volunteer  legal  adviser. 

By  this  time  Stein  had  gained  a  complete  ascend- 
ancy over  the  whole  guard-house  crew.  He  was 
their  friend,  and  they  his;  and,  indeed,  the  deni- 
zens of  the  garrison  generally  had  a  very  tender 
side  for  him.     By  some  means  he  became  possessed 


230  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

of  money.  The  Mexicans  living  near,  men  and 
women,  acting  as  guides  and  laundresses,  passed  in 
and  out  unquestioned  and  almost  unobserved.  Tliej 
had  always  done  so,  and  were  regarded  as  harmless 
and  useless  people.  Sergeants  and  corporals  of  the 
ffuard  thouorht  it  so  small  a  matter  that  one  of  these 
women  should  frequently  speak  with  the  prisoner, 
that  the  circumstance  was  never  even  mentioned. 
It  was  hard  indeed,  they  probably  argued,  that  the 
prettiest  and  proudest  of  them  all  should  not  be 
allowed  to  stand  sometimes  in  the  cool  night  below 
his  window,  and  chatter  to  him  in  a  voice  so  low 
that  even  the  sentinel  could  hardly  hear,  even  if  he 
could  understand.  Neither,  surely,  was  there  any 
harm  in  there  being  always  somebody  flitting  around 
in  the  moonlight  and  watching  the  prisoner's  win- 
dow. She  was  only  foolish,  they  thought — or 
probably  very  much  in  love,  which  is  the  same 
thing. 

Smythe  did  not  positively  know,  but  nevertheless 
guessed,  that  his  prisoner  meant  to  escape,  and 
might  possibly  succeed.  He  had  done  his  whole 
duty;  his  orders  were  strict.  One  day  he  was  by 
chance  in  the  little  room  where  Stein  worked  and 
slept.  Upon  the  little  cracked  mantel-piece,  in  plain 
view,  lay  a  large  carpenter's  chisel.  The  command- 
ant took  it  up,  turned  suddenly  upon  Stein,  and 
asked  him  how  it  came  there.  "I  stole  it  from 
the  shop  a  month  ago,  sir,"  said  the  undaunted 
prisoner. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other,  straight  in 
the  eye.      "Stein,"  said  the  officer,    "you  are  my 


A  GUARD-ROUSE   GENTLEMAN.  231 


prisoner,  iiiid  having  cauglit  you  I  do  not  intend 
that  you  shall  escape.  I  laid  no  trap  for  you,  and 
personally  wish  you  not  the  slightest  harm.  Never- 
theless, I  wish  you  to  distinctly  understand  that  I 
mean  to  keep  you.  This  is  an  old  game,  and  of 
course  I  understand  it  perfectly.  Would  you  like 
to  go  and  sleep  upon  a  board  again,  and  take  your 
fare  with  the  fellows  below?"  and  his  eye  rested  a 
moment  upon  the  prisoner's  shackle-rivet. 

The  prisoner,  standing  at  "attention,''  turned 
slightly  pale,  and  his  peculiar  eye  had  a  look  in  it 
that  the  officer  returned  with  one  of  equal  resolu- 
tion. "I  understand,  sir,"  he  said,  "it  was  my 
fate  that  brought  me  here,  not  you.  I  could  have 
gone  some  time  since,  and  did  not.  I  give  you  my 
word  of  honor  that  I  shall  not  try  to  escape  while 
you  command  the  post." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Lieutenant  Smythe  had 
ever  been  given  a  "word  of  honor"  by  a  private 
soldier,  much  less  by  a  confessed  deserter.  He 
looked  again  at  his  man,  laid  the  chisel  —  already 
battered  upon  the  edge  —  down  where  he  had  found 
it,  and  walked  out  of  the  place. 

A  month  passed,  and  the  expected  new  officer 
came  to  command  the  post.  The  prisoner  immedi- 
ately became  restless.  It  was  evident  to  Smythe, 
now  no  longer  responsible,  that  the  gentleman  of 
the  guard-house  contemplated  a  denouement  that 
would  somewhat  astonish  the  new  commandant. 
Yet  he  wondered  how,  in  the  face  of  difficulties  that 
would  have  caused  most  men  to  calmly  submit  to 


232  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCBES. 

evil  fate,  he  intended  to  remedy  his  ills.  It  hap- 
pened in  this  wise : 

There  came  a  night  of  wind  and  storm  rare  in 
that  region.  The  clouds  scudded  across  the  sky  in 
quick  succession,  and  the  favorable  elements  of 
noise  and  darkness  were  plentifully  contributed. 
About  midnight,  Smythe  was  awakened  by  the  new 
commandant,  and  informed  with  a  rueful  face  that 
the  celebrated  prisoner  had  escaped.  It  was  strange, 
he  said ;  he  had  given  that  man  a  double  share  of 
vigilance  ever  since  he  had  been  at  the  post. 

The  orders  required  the  guard-corporal  to  inspect 
the  prisoner's  room  every  two  hours  during  the 
night,  and  in  making  one  of  these  untimely  visits 
the  object  of  so  much  unappreciated  solicitude  was 
found  to  have  placed  himself  beyond  the  reach  of 
annoyance.  The  ponderous  ball  and  chain  lay  upon 
the  floor.  The  pallet  where  he  had  lain  was  fancied 
to  be  yet  warm.  Under  the  table  lay  a  leaden  rivet 
that  fitted  the  hole  in  the  ankle-ring  of  the  discarded 
shackles.  It  was  simple  enough — he  had  dropped 
from  the  window. 

Upon  the  mantlepiece  lay  a  battered  and  heavy 
carpenter's  chisel,  and  with  this  the  prisoner  had 
hammered  the  head  of  his  shackle-rivet  imtil  it  had 
been  broken  off  and  removed.  He  had  then  inserted 
the  leaden  one,  made  from  a  musket-ball,  and  worn 
it  in  that  manner  until  opportunity  came.  He  was 
gone  irrevocably.  In  these  barren  hills,  on  such  a 
night,  nothing  less  than  the  chance  that  had  captured 
him  once  could  take  him  again,  and  before  the  dawn 
he  would  have  safely  crossed  the  Mexican  bound- 


A  GUARD-HOUSE   GENTLEMAN.  233 

ary.  But  would  lie  have  made  the  desperate  ven- 
ture on  foot,  and  without  a  guide  ?  And  what  of  the 
sentinel  who  walked  beneath  the  window  ?  The  wall 
was  white,  and  the  night  was  not  wholly  dark  ;  why 
had  he  not  been  seen  or  heard?  Strangely  enough, 
in  cases  like  this  the  first  thing,  the  essential  diffi- 
culty, is  always  the  last  thing  thought  of.  When 
the  sentinel  was  sent  for  he  was  found  lying  beneath 
the  window,  limp,  silent,  dazed,  his  discarded  mus- 
ket lying  beneath  his  hand.  ''^ Aguardiente^^''  said 
the  reflective  Smythe  to  himself,  as  he  turned  away, 
and  walked  off  to  his  quarters  and  his  bed  more  than 
ever  regretting  the  unlucky  morning  he  had  uttered 
his  wish  to  the -ravens,  of  all  birds;  for,  quoth  he, 
there  are  no  bars  that  can  confine,  no  circumstances 
that  can  daunt,  the  combined  forces  of  brains,  un- 
scrupulousness,  and  love.  But  Smythe  did  not  say 
much;  the  following  morning  he  even  sat  up  in  his 
bed  and  smiled  to  himself  as  he  thought  of  the 
explanatory  letter  the  other  fellow  would  have  to 
write  about  the  escape  of  the  prisoner  whose  per- 
sonal description  was  posted  in  the  adjutant's  office, 
whose  safety  the  department  commander  had  stated 
he  was  solicitous  of,  and  who,  he  was  privately  glad 
to  know,  was  gone  about  his  affairs. 

It  was  almost  a  year  afterward,  and  Lieutenant 
Smythe  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  little  episode 
of  the  guard-house  gentleman.  He  had,  in  fact,  been 
ordered  elsewhere,  and  was  occupied  with  new  duties 
and  surroundings.  One  of  these  duties  necessitated 
a  journey  of  four  hundred  miles,  from  a  post  upon 
the  lower  Kio  Grande,  to  Santa  Fe,  to  attend  the 


234:  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKFAVHES. 

sessions  of  a  general  court-martial.  It  mattered 
little  in  the  execution  of  sucli  an  order  that  it  was  a 
region  of  uninhabited  distances  as  rugged  as  they 
were  long.  There  are  canons,  passes,  wild  defiles, 
and  endless  miles  of  alkali  and  sage.  There  are 
Apaches  as  well,  and  Mexicans  who  are  reputed  no 
better  than  the  copper-colored  Islimaelites  who  mur- 
der and  are  never  seen.  No  town  or  tavern  ever 
greets  the  eye  of  the  tired  wayfarer.  Camp-fire 
ashes,  in  little  heaps  beside  the  trail,  tell  him  what 
he  too  must  do  when  night  comes.  No  man  makes 
the  journey  alone,  and  he  and  his  companions  may 
while  the  time  away  as  best  they  may,  so  they  be 
but  watchful.  And  for  the  first  day  there  is  watch- 
fulness— a  vigilance  that  scrutinizes  every  movement 
of  the  gaunt  cacti  upon  the  hillsides  and  hears  every 
movement  made  by  quail  or  rabbit  in  the  sage.  The 
second  day  there  is  also  care,  but  less  of  it.  The 
way  is  long,  and  the  thoughts  wander,  it  may  be  to 
New  England,  but  to  the  homes  and  fields  of  long 
ago  wherever  they  may  lie.  The  third,  and  all  other 
days,  are  but  periods  of  weariness  and  of  wishing 
one  were  at  his  journey's  end.  There  are  no  In- 
dians; there  is  notlnng  but  earth,  and  air,  and  sky, 
and  silence,  and  that  deep  monotony  that  shall 
never  be  broken  by  civilization  and  the  uses  of  man. 
The  lieutenant  rode  alone.  Far  behind  him  he 
could  hear  the  clank  of  sabres  and  the  jingling  of 
bridles,  and  was  carelessly  satisfied  with  the  near- 
ness of  his  escort.  He  was  busily  thinking,  and  was 
tired  and  worn  with  the  eternal  vigilance  of  such  a 
journey;   tired  of  his  fare  of  hard-bread  and  ham, 


A  OUAED-HOUSE   OKSTLEMAN.  235 


coffee  and  dried  beef;  tired  of  himself.  Soiiietimcs, 
perhaps,  he  ahnost  slept.  Anon  a  brawling  stream 
from  the  mountain  snows  crossed  his  trail,  and  his 
gray  horse  stopped  to  drink.  Again  the  steep  rock 
rose  above  him  a  thousand  sheer  feet,  and  below 
him  yawned  a  chasm  black  witli  deptli.  There  were 
glades,  too,  where  the  miniature  oak,  witli  its  bright 
green  leaves  and  its  thicklj-clustering  acorns,  gath- 
ered in  tangled  groves  over  acres  of  uncropped 
grass.  Yet  it  was  all  tlie  same:  it  was  New  Mexico, 
with  her  skies  forever  blue,  her  sparkling  air,  and 
her  stony  and  inhospitable  bosom. 

The  trail  widened  ;  there  were  two  paths  now 
instead  of  one.  The  lieutenant  did  not  know  how 
long  it  had  been  so  ;  and  when  he  came  to  think  of 
it,  had  no  recollection  of  how  long  it  had  been  since 
he  had  heard  the  clank  of  sabres  behind  him,  or 
paid  any  attention  to  the  nearness  of  his  escort.  He 
waited  and  listened,  and  all  was  as  silent  as  chaos. 
He  rode  back,  and  his  escort  was  not  behind  ;  for- 
ward, and  they  did  not  appear.  They  were  gone  in 
the  silence,  and  the  officer  was  alone  —  and  lost. 

But  these  paths  were  made  by  men,  and  must 
lead  somewhere.  Smythe  was  wide  awake  now, 
and  spurred  his  horse  on,  he  knew  not  whither. 
The  guide  was  with  the  soldiers.  "They  are  not 
lost,"  he  mused;  "I  am."  And  he  rode  on,  faster 
and  faster,  as  time  passed  and  no  sign  of  humanity, 
known  or  unknown,  appeared.  The  low  sun  of  the 
afternoon  reminded  him  of  the  coming  of  an  inhos- 
pitable and  supperless  night,  for  the  sumpter-mule 
was  with  the  escort  also,   while   he  was  with   the 


236  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

gnomes  and  uncouth  fairies  who  inhabit  these  stunted 
and  primeval  shades.  He  had  ridden  far,  how  far 
he  did  not  know.  The  glens  were  already  cavernous 
and  black  in  the  shadows,  while  the  slopes  and  hill- 
tops shone  with  a  yellow  glory  as  of  stained  glass. 
He  knew  that  he  had  climbed  higher  and  higher. 
Sometimes,  as  he  looked  back,  he  caught  a  glimpse, 
through  some  long  canon,  of  the  vast  plateau  below, 
stretching  away  for  a  hundred  miles.  Around  him 
appeared  a  new  earth.  There  was  water  every- 
where, and  the  herbage  was  the  grass  of  another 
zone,  green  and  bright  with  rain  and  sun.  Oak  and 
pine  stood  clustered  together  in  silent  parks,  with 
mountains  still  above,  and  leagues  of  rock  below. 

Smythe  stopped  and  looked  about  him.  Would 
they  ever  find  him  ?  Could  he  ever  retrace  his 
steps  ?  Did  men  or  did  deer  make  these  now  innu- 
merable paths  ?  It  was  with  a  feeling  approaching 
despair  that  he  sat  down  upon  a  bowlder  and  watched 
the  horse  greedily  crop  the  grass.  Had  he  not  been 
lost  he  would  have  been  entranced  by  the  scene 
around  him.  But  presently  he  imagined  he  heard 
something  —  a  metallic  sound,  faint  and  far  and 
dim  ;  a  dream  of  the  tinkling  of  a  bell,  or  a  water- 
fall. Intently  listening,  he  was  sure  he  heard  it 
again.  He  rode  forward  along  the  glade,  and  pres- 
ently found  a  steep  incline  and  a  winding  road. 
Far  down  lay  a  nook  in  which  were  clustered  some 
little  adobe  houses.  There  was  a  rocky  stream 
brawling  among  its  bowlders,  and  here  and  there 
moving  figures  that  were  not  Apaches.  Standing 
closely  in  a  huge  enclosure  there  were  hundreds  of 


A    GUARD-HOUSE  GENTLEMAN.  23 Y 

sheep,  and  from  among  them  came  at  intervals  the 
muffled  tinkling  of  their  drowsy  bells.  Smjthe  sat 
upon  his  horse  and  looked  down  upon  the  scene. 
The  last  red  rays  of  the  sun  shone  aslant  through 
the  valley,  and  tinged  with  rose-color  the  gray  rocks 
and  earthen  roofs.  The  blue  smoke  lay  like  a  wide 
and  fleecy  mantle  above.  The  astonished  officer 
fancied  he  could  detect  the  odor  of  primitive  cook- 
ery and  hear  the  sound  of  voices.  A  huge  brindled 
sheep-dog  paused  in  his  journey  from  house  to  house, 
stood  for  a  moment  looking  up  the  hill  at  the  gra}^ 
horse  and  his  rider,  barked,  and  went  his  ways 
again.  He  rode  down  the  steep  incline  ;  and  as  tlie 
long  mountain  valley  opened  before  him,  he  thought 
of  Eden  and  the  solitary  loves  of  those  two  to  whom 
it  was,  like  this,  all  the  world. 

It  was  not  strange  that  Lieutenant  Smythe's 
appearance  spread  consternation  through  the  little 
hamlet.  A  woman  saw  him  first,  and  darted  away. 
A  man's  swarthy  visage  appeared  around  a  corner, 
and  again  disappeared.  The  dogs  stood  afar  off  and 
growled.  Presently,  however,  came  one  with  a 
quick  step  and  unabashed  demeanor,  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  horse's  rein. 

"It  would  seem.  Lieutenant  Smythe,"  he  said, 
"that  you  and  I  were  fated  to  meet  in  strange 
places.     Are  you  lost,  or  a  —  deserter?^' 

"I  am  lost,"  said  Smythe,  and  he  scrutinized 
the  face  of  Stein,  as  wondering  if  it  was  necessary 
at  last  to  fight  it  out  upon  equal  terms. 

"At  any  rate,  the  meeting  is  an  unexpected 
pleasure,"  said  the  other,  and  Smythe  was  requested 


238  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

to  come  into  the  little  house,  while  some  one  led 
away  his  horse.  He  found  a  fire  and  a  seat,  but 
also  discovered  that  he  was  left  entirely  alone.  A 
half  hour  passed,  and  a  swarthy  person  brought 
beans,  cheese,  and  meat,  and  placing  them  upon  the 
little  deal-table  went  away  without  a  word.  Drowsy 
and  hungry,  the  officer  ate,  and  afterwards  nodded 
in  his  chair  by  the  fire.  Ko  one  came,  and  deep 
silence  rested  upon  all  the  spot,  without  and  within. 
It  was  a  hospitality  that  was  left  him  to  partake  of 
or  to  leave  ;  and  presently  he  lay  down  on  the  huge 
pile  of  sheepskins  that  was  evidently  meant  for  a 
bed. 

It  was  all  oblivion  to  Smythe,  until,  awakening, 
he  knew  that  some  one  was  placing  a  rude  breakfast 
upon  the  table.  Without,  he  heard  the  bleating  of 
sheep  and  the  tinkling  of  bells.  The  servant  retired, 
and  he  found  the  earthen  water-jar  with  its  attend-, 
ant  basin,  bathed,  and  again  ate.  While  the  sky 
beliind  the  eastern  mountains  was  as  yet  but  a  red 
glow,  the  door  was  opened,  and  .his  horse  stood 
til  ere,  with  a  Mexican,  who  beckoned  him  to  mount 
and  follow.  As  he  climbed  the  hill  and  looked 
back,  the  sweet  vale  lay  bathed  in  sparkling  dew, 
the  fiocks  had  disappeared,  and  the  place  seemed 
uninhabited.  The  Mexican  with  his  donkey  plodded 
on  before,  and  Smythe,  wondering,  was  fain  to 
follow. 

Some  rough  miles  were  passed,  and  suddenly 
Stein  was  encountered,  sitting  quietly  upon  his  horse 
at  a  place  where  the  trail  turned  northward.  "I 
know,"  he  said,    "where  your  party   are.     Follow 


A    GUARD-HOUSE   GENTLEMAN.  239 

this  man,  and  jou  will  find  them."  He  paused  a 
moment,  and  added,  "There  is  a  strange  story 
between  us,  of  which  it  is  useless  to  talk.  We  shall 
in  all  likelihood  not  meet  again.  I  was  never  a 
criminal,  and  am  here  in  peace  after  many  mistakes 
and  misfortunes, —  or  follies  and  crimes,  as  you  may 
be  pleased  to  think  them.  Be  so  kind  as  to  excuse 
my  scant  courtesy;  it  is  necessary  that  I  should 
have  this  much  hereafter  to  myself.  If  I  chose  to 
keep  you  a  prisoner,  do  you  think  they  would  ever 
find  you  ?  No  matter ;  I  gave  you  my  promise 
once,  and  kept  it.  Will  you  return  the  compliment 
now?" 

"  I  understand.  You  and  your  happy  valley 
shall  never  be  molested  by  my  fault.  I  give  you 
my  word  of  honor." 

^''Adios  j  "  and  as  the  officer  looked  back,  he  saw, 
disappearing  among  the  low  oaks,  and  for  the  last 
time,  the  character  who,  in  all  his  reminiscences, 
bears  the  title  of  "The  Guard-house  Gentleman." 


XIII. 
WOMAN  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES. 

THERE  is  a  being  who  is  the  embodiment  of 
beauty,  gracefulness,  kindness,  and  unaccount- 
able caprice.  Wise  men  spend  their  lives  in  a  futile 
endeavor  to  understand  her,  and  die  with  every 
conception  of  her  incomplete.  She  is  at  once  our 
ideal  and  our  possession.  She  is  with  us,  but  not 
of  us.  Living  our  lives,  breathing  our  air,  the 
co-subject  of  all  our  vicissitudes  and  sorrows,  with  a 
thousand  others  of  her  own,  she  has  yet  a  life  apart, 
filled  with  her  own  thoughts,  her  own  conclusions, 
and  her  own  peculiar  opinions.  She  fills  daily  our 
sole  conception,  our  full  measure  of  belief,  as  to 
what  a  woman  ought  to  be  and  is.  Beside  her, 
there  is  no  other  creature  worthy  of  the  love  which 
is  her  inheritance,  or  the  dignity  that  comes  of  uni- 
versal motherhood.  She  is  human,  a  woman,  and 
she  never  yet  came  to  a  conclusion  that  was  logical, 
or  formed  an  opinion  she  could  give  a  reason  for,  or 
possessed  the  remotest  conception  of  abstract  justice. 
She  reigns,  the  irresponsible  queen  of  the  civilized 
world,  with  her  feet  upon  our  necks ;  and  we  are 
willing  she  should,  the  grayest  cynic  of  us  all.  She 
gives  us  all  there  is  in  this  life  to  give,  and  all  she 
has,  and  yet  keeps  a  world  of  her  own  to  herself 
—  a  world   we   cannot  enter.      The  gem  and  glory 


WOMAN  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES.  241 

of  creation,  the  recipient  of  the  profoundest  idola- 
try of  which  the  mind  is  capable,  the  nearest  and 
dearest  of  all,  she  yet  lives  indescribably  apart,  and 
radiates  an  essence  that  is  to  us  like  the  faintest 
glimmer  of  the  farthest  star.  With  the  passage  of 
centuries  she  has  added  to  her  own  loveliness,  until 
she  has  no  comparative  in  the  Rose  of  Sharon,  no 
peer  in  the  white  Lily  of  the  Yalley.  Were  it 
but  known  that  in  the  hereafter  she  would  not  be 
changed,  and  would  welcome  us  there  with  the 
smiles  and  tears  that  beguile  us  here,  the  hopes  of 
mankind  would  take  new  directions,  and  the  milen- 
nium,  wdien  it  came,  would  be  but  an  unimportant 
event. 

And  yet  no  creature  is  so  entirely  susceptible  to 
surrounding  influences,  to  the  strong  teachings  of 
nature,  wildness  and  loneliness,  to  rough  associations 
and  uncouth  companions,  yet  still  preserving  the 
distinctive  characteristics  that  belong  to  sex  rather 
than  to  race.  The  women  we  know  and  daily  see, 
whom  it  is  a  part  of  our  religion  to  respect  and  a 
part  of  our  lives  to  love,  are  only  typical  women  — 
specimens  of  the  grade  of  beauty  and  refinement 
attainable  under  the  highest  form  of  civilization. 
There  are  thousands  of  others,  worthy  and  womanly 
in  their  way,  who  are  not  as  these.  Nay,  our  ideals 
are  scarcely  even  in  the  majority. 

There  are  many  rough  and  honest  men,  whose 
faces  are  brown  and  bearded  and  whose  hands  are 
hard  with  toil,  who  have  never  even  seen  the  grace- 
ful creatures  whose  white  shoulders  gleam  through 
tulle,  whose  footsteps  patter  upon  errands  of  extra v- 
IG 


242  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

agance  over  every  paved  street,  and  whose  faces 
bloom  ill  rows  at  the  theatre.  There  are  unfortu- 
nates in  whose  early  recollections  are  not  included 
the  ineifably  genteel  whisper  of  the  matronly  silk, 
as  it  passed  up  the  church  aisle  on  Sunday  morning 
in  the  decorous  company  of  fair  broadcloth  and  a 
gold-headed  cane.  To  this  man,  the  being  who 
blushes  at  the  mere  mention  of  an  indelicacy,  whose 
hair  is  indeed  a  ''glory,"  whose  palms  are  pink, 
whose  garments  are  a  wonderful  triumph  of  mind 
over  cloth,  whose  movements  are  tempered  with 
gracefulness,  and  whose  very  language  is  the  result 
of  culture  until  worn  platitudes  are  sweet  upon  her 
tongue,  is  one  so  far  off  that  he  would  scarcely 
picture  her  in  his  dim  imaginings  of  angels. 

But  he  has  his  companion,  like  him,  and  emi- 
nently suited  to  him.  In  his  home,  and  to  accom- 
pany him  in  his  wanderings  along  the  frontier,  he 
needs  no  other.  [N'eighbor  she  has  none.  Of  the 
crowded  street,  and  the  jam  and  jostle  of  pavements, 
she  knows  nothing.  Her  amusements  are  lonely, 
her  occupations  homely  and  masculine.  All  she  has, 
and  most  that  she  hopes  for,  may  be  included  in  the 
dull  routine  of  one  room,  one  hearth,  one  changeless 
scene.  Life  to  her  is  the  rising  and  the  setting  sun, 
the  changing  seasons,  the  cloud,  the  wind,  the  frost, 
and  the  falling  rain.  She  knows  the  tricks  of  horses, 
the  straying  of  the  herd,  and  all  the  economy  of  the 
corral.  Business  to  her  is  the  small  traffic  of  the 
trading-post.  Strangers  are  those  who  occupy  the 
white-tilted  wagons  which  she  sees  come  and  go  on 
the  far  horizon.     Friends  are  all   those  who   have 


WOMAN  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES.  243 

white  faces  and  Christian  names,  and  enemies  those 
whose  faces  she  seldom  sees  and  who  are  tlie  wilj 
and  inveterate  foes  of  all  her  race.  Of  such  as  she, 
the  denizens  of  cities  know  but  little ;  and  she 
deserves  a  history  because  of  her  very  isolation. 

Wherever  the  frontiersman  has  occupied  a  place 
in  Western  annals,  his  wife  has  stood  in  the  back- 
ground. The  women  of  the  plains,  of  Colorado,  of 
Arkansas,  and  of  Texas,  are  of  the  same  genus  with 
the  women  of  the  Wabash  and  the  Missouri,  only 
with  differing  surroundings.  N^one  of  them  are  of 
the  class  of  the  "piney-woods"  maiden,  whose  life, 
appearance,  and  general  character  became  known  to 
us  through  the  veracious  narratives  of  Sherman's 
"bummers."  But  the  men  who  write  of  Buffalo- 
land,  who  wind  off  narratives  of  Western  life  for 
trans-continental  newspapers  and  magazines,  or  who 
verbally  detail  to  a  knot  of  listeners  their  Othello- 
like adventures,  have  little  to  say  of  the  daughters 
of  the  wilderness.  The  sun-burned  and  slip-shod 
woman  who  hunts  cows  in  the  creek  "bottoms" 
upon  a  bare-backed  mustang,  who  folds  her  hands 
behind  her  at  the  cabin  door,  and  in  a  shrill  voice 
gossips  with  the  passing  stranger,  and  whose  careless 
cookery  furnishes  forth  a  bill  of  fare  as  changeless 
as  time,  does  not  figure  largely  in  the  overdone 
stories  of  the  romance  of  the  frontier  and  the  adven- 
ture of  the  border. 

Why  should  she?  Her  precise  pattern  in  these 
respects  still  lingers  amid  encroaching  fields  in  the 
ague-haunted  fens  of  the  Wabash  and  amid  the 
brown  sand  of  the  Missouri  bottoms.     But  there  are 


244  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


other  and  more  remarkable  characteristics  pertain- 
ing to  the  woman  of  the  far  West.  She  is  there,  not 
from  carelessness  and  ignorance  of  any  better  place, 
but  from  necessity.  Her  surroundings  are  not  those 
of  choice,  but  of  what  is  nearly  allied  to  misfortune. 
Indolence  and  innate  untidiness  are  not  the  causes 
of  her  poor  larder  and  her  comfortless  home. 
There  is  no  broad  line  drawn  between  her  and 
thrifty  and  prosperous  neighbors.  For  hundreds  of 
miles  there  are  no  more  comfortable  and  prosperous 
homes  than  her  own ;  and,  with  a  patience  that 
might  have  a  touch  of  sublimity  were  it  not  so  nearly 
unconscious,  she  waits  for  better  things.  And  when 
these  better  things  come,  if  they  ever  should,  when 
population  and  prosperity  encroach  too  near,  then, 
following  the  instinct  of  migration,  for  God's  pur- 
poses, as  strong  in  humanity  as  in  tlie  beasts,  she 
and  her  husband  will  move  again.  The  grotesque 
procession  of  lean  and  melancholy  cows,  multitu- 
dinous and  currish  dogs,  rough  men  and  barefoot 
girls,  and,  lastly,  the  dilTipidated  wagon,  with  its 
rickety  household  goods,  wends  never  eastward. 

The  sod  house  of  western  Kansas,  the  cabin  of 
Texas,  and  the  adobe  of  Colorado,  are  not  all  so 
fortunate  as  to  have  a  female  mistress.  The  fact  is 
proclaimed  afar  oiF  by  an  essential  difference  in 
appearance.  There  was  never  yet  a  lonesome  bor- 
derer who  planted  a  vine  or  draped  a  window  or 
swept  the  narrow  path  in  front  of  his  door.  Men 
seldom  do  such  things,  while  the  virtues  of  good 
housewifery  are,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  the 
natural  qualifications  of  every  woman.     In  many  a 


WOMAJ^""  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES.  245 


wilderness  nook,  the  blooming  plant  that  is  cher- 
ished beside  the  door,  the  drapery  of  the  one  small 
window,  the  clean-swept  hearth,  the  row  of  shining 
tins,  and  the  small  evidences  of  needle-and-thrcad 
industry,  proclaim  that  however  poor  the  place  may 
be,  if  it  hold  a  woman  her  hand  will  still  find  some- 
to  do  in  the  way  of  adornment. 

There  is  nothing  strange  in  the  fact  that  the 
Indian  squaw  is  always  a  slave.  Yet  the  savage 
jroes  but  little  further  in  that  direction  than  his 
enemy  the  frontiersman.  In  all  times,  races,  and 
circumstances  in  which  crudity  and  toil  prepon- 
derate over  ease  and  refinement,  woman  bears  the 
burden  of  the  misfortune.  But  the  rule  of  compen- 
sation exists  everywhere.  The  sun  and  the  wind 
are  kinder  than  are  late  hours  and  furnace-heated 
chambers.  The  slavery  of  the  field  is  infinitely 
more  conducive  to  strcngtli  and  happiness  than  the 
slavery  of  the  corset  and  the  high-heeled  shoe. 
Maternity  is  not  a  terror  and  a  peril  to  the  woman 
of  the  border.  Life,  with  all  its  hardship  and  isola- 
tion, gives  her  at  least  all  it  has  to  give.  The  days 
may  be  days  of  toil,  but  the  noon  brings  its  hunger 
and  health,  and  the  night  its  deep  sleep  of  rest  and 
peace.  That  wearying  round  of  ceremony,  that 
daily  attendance  upon  the  mirror  and  weekly  inves- 
tigation of  the  fashion-plates,  that  thought  of  Mrs. 
Smith's  bonnet  and  Mrs.  Brown's  children,  and  the 
bank-account  and  the  milliner's  prices,  —  all  the  un- 
seen and  untalked  of,  yet  wearisome  and  monoto- 
nous burdens  of  fashionable  life,  are  here  unknown. 
And  the  compensation  is  great.     Untrammelled  by 


246  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

stays  and  ceremonies,  the  border  woman  has  what 
few  of  her  sex  but  her  entirely  possess  —  health. 
Not  a  fictitious  and  deceptive  rosiness  of  cheek  and 
gracefulness  of  carriage,  not  whiteness  of  hands  and 
willowy  slenderness  of  waist,  but  rude,  awkward, 
brawny  health.  The  women  who,  all  over  the 
eastern  United  States,  are  the  chief  adornment  of 
beautiful  homes,  and  the  wives  and  daughters  of 
what  are  called,  by  way  of  general  designation. 
Christian  gentlemen,  who  cause  mankind  daily  to 
forget  Eden  and  Eve  and  never  to  think  of  the  fall, 
and  who  are  the  mothers  of  daughters  as  brilliant  as 
June  roses  and  who  fade  like  them,  and  of  sons  who 
are  men  at  twenty  and  old  and  MasS  at  forty,  are 
not  expected  to  credit  all- this,  or  to  have  the  slight- 
est desire  for  an  exchange  of  circumstances,  which 
to  them  would  be  impossible.  The  facts  are  only 
mentioned  to  show  that  the  pity  for  those  who  live 
thus  is  often  misplaced,  and  that  there  is  no  circum- 
stantial misfortune  that  has  not  also  its  reward. 

I  know  of  no  woman  inhabiting  the  border  wil- 
derness who  lias  not  some  of  the  refinement  that 
belongs  rather  to  sex  than  to  race,  except  the  Indian 
squaw.  A  v/oman  whose  face  bears  evidence  of  a 
relationship  with  any  of  the  dominant  races  of  the 
world,  has  something  about  her,  wherever  you  find 
her,  that  is  more  or  less  womanly  and  attractive. 
The  borderer's  wife  does  not  swear,  or  chew  tobacco, 
or  ofi*er  the  least  suggestion  of  indelicacy  in  action 
or  word.  She  is  "green,"  constrained,  and  often 
awkward ;  but  her  face  is  not  more  coarse,  or  more 
incapable  of  that  surging  rosiness  that  is  the  tat- 


WOMAN  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES.  247 

tling  index  to  a  woman's  thought,  than  any  other. 
If  I  may  be  allowed  to  coin  a  phrase,  I  would  say 
that  the  standard  of  delicacy  by  which  her  sensibili- 
ties were  governed  was  a  different  and  broader  one 
than  that  in  common  use.  She  associates  with  men, 
and  ratlier  coarse  ones.  She  is  intimately  acquainted 
with  them,  and  interested  in  all  their  affairs.  She 
is  accustomed  to  wildness  and  danger,  and  learns  to 
be  strong  of  hand  and  nerve,  and  cool  in  sudden 
emergencies.  It  may  be  set  down  to  her  credit 
that,  while  she  will  run  if  she  can,  she  will  also 
fight  if  she  must.  Yet  there  are  no  circumstances 
that  can  ever  entirely  divest  a  woman  of  her  essen- 
tial femininity.  I  have  been  amused  to  note  that  a 
woman  who  was  complete  mistress  of  a  recalcitrant 
mustang,  and  every  day  brought  him  under  subjec- 
tion by  a  by-no-means-dainty  application  of  the  end 
of  his  lariat,  and  who  ruled  with  a  high  hand  all  the 
hard-headed  and  sulky  denizens  of  the  corral,  would 
utter  the  little  cry  of  her  sex  and  ingloriously 
retreat  at  the  sight  of  one  of  the  harmless  little 
lizards  who  infest  the  prairie  paths  of  the  South- 
west. 

In  society,  women  dress  for  women  ;  in  certain 
other  walks  in  life*,  they  dress  for  men ;  and  left 
alone,  they  dress  for  themselves.  The  story  of  the 
first  garment,  made  out  of  the  world's  fresh  green 
leaves,  tells  only  a  part  of  the  story.  Here  on  the 
border,  the  old  business  of  the  sex — to  look  pretty 
—  receives  as  much  attention  as  it  does  anywhere. 
There  is  not  much  choice  of  material,  —  calico  is  the 
article.      Valenciennes   and   Mechlin,    and    all   the 


248  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

cunning  variations  in  name  and  material  which 
make  up  the  lexicon  of  the  modern  drj-goods  clerk, 
even  the  cant  about  "chaste"  colors  and  "pretty" 
styles,  are  utterly  unknown  to  the  belle  of  the 
border.  As  she  tilts  back  in  a  hide-bottomed  chair 
like  a  man,  it  is  easy  to  perceive  that  feet  that  are 
not  always  coarse  are  encased  in  brogans  ccmstructed 
with  a  special  view  to  the  roughness  of  wayside 
stones,  the  penetrating  quality  of  early  dew,  and  the 
gravity  and  persuasiveness  of  kicks  administered  by 
them.  The  neck,  sunburned,  but  not  always  want- 
ing in  due  proportion  and  natural  whiteness,  is  igno- 
rant of  collar  or  confinement.  Waist  and  limb  are 
untrammelled  by  any  of  the  devices  which  are  sup- 
posed to  be  so  necessary  to  style  ;  and  the  hair, 
combed  straight  and  smooth,  is  twisted  into  a  tight 
little  knot  behind,  which,  as  compared  with  the 
composite  mysteries  that  within  the  memory  of 
people  still  fashionable  were  carried  about  beneath 
the  bonnets  of  our  wives,  remind  one  of  a  small 
wooden  knob.  In  the  frontier  toilet  there  is  some- 
times a  lack  of  the  two  essentials  of  starch  and 
snowy  whiteness.  Cleanliness  there  is,  to  be  sure ; 
but  it  is  a  cleanliness  of  material  and  fact,  and  fails 
in  any  suggestion  of  daintiness.  '  It  is  upon  the  use- 
ful and  inexpensive  calico  mentioned  that  the  efforts 
of  feminine  taste  are  mostly  expended.  There  are 
ruffles,  and  bias  stripes,  and  flounces,  and  a  hun- 
dred pretty  and  fantastic  devices  that  it  is  beyond 
masculine  technology  to  describe.  Yet,  there  are 
no  prescribed  fashions  for  tliese  vagaries  in  dress. 
Each  woman    expends   her   ingenuity  according  to 


WOMAN  UlfpER  DIFFICULTIES.  249 

her  ideas  of  beauty.  The  style  of  a  calico  gown 
may  seem  a  small  item  in  describing  the  character- 
istics of  a  class,  but  the  adornment  is  so  universal 
that  it  becomes  a  noticable  feature.  It  is  infinitely 
to  her  credit,  too,  being  the  evidence  that  barbarism 
is  not  the  result  of  hopeless  seclusion,  and  that  taste 
and  care  will  hold  a  place  in  the  hearts  and  efforts 
of  such  women  in  their  struggle  with  wildness,  until 
that  time  shall  come  in  which  civilization  shall  com- 
plete her  task. 

If  anything  thus  far  should  lead  to  the  impres- 
sion that  comeliness,  not  to  say  beauty,  is  impossible 
to  the  women  of  the  border,  that  impression  needs 
correction.  Under  the  severest  tests,  the  frontier 
often  has  a  comeliness  of  its  own.  It  is  not  the 
paltry  prettiness  of  gait  and  manner  to  which  so 
many  of  our  queens  are  deeply  indebted  ;  not  the 
charm  of  soft  words  and  cultured  address.  These, 
indeed,  make  us  sometimes  imagine  beauty  where 
there  is  none,  and  procure  gentle  thoughts  and  hus- 
bands where  there  is  little  else  to  recommend. 
Frontier  charms,  where  they  exist  at  all,  make 
models  of  stalwart  and  untrained  grace.  Health 
itself  is  beauty,  and  that  unfashionable  kind  is  com- 
mon enough.  It  were  well  if  absolute  ugliness 
everywhere  were  the  result  only  of  age,  hardship, 
and  decay,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  think  that  at  least 
here  youth  seldom  wants  its  round  curves  and  its 
crimson  glow.  There  are  border-women  whose  hair 
falls  in  troublesome  abundance  and  will  not  be  con- 
fined ;  whose  cheeks,  if  they  could  know  immunity 
from  the  hot  caresses  of  the  sun  and  the  boisterous 


250  FRONTIER  ARMY  ^KETCHES. 

kisses  of  the  wind,  would  show  the  clearest  white 
and  the  bonniest  bloom.  There  are  limbs  that 
shuffle  slip-shod  along  the  trails  in  search  of  lost 
animals,  of  whose  round  strength  the  owner  has 
little  thought,  and  arms  that  split  firewood  and 
bring  water  from  the  spring,  whose  whiteness  and 
mould  would  fit  them  rather  for  the  adornment  of 
golden  clasps  and  folds  of  ancient  lace.  To  see 
these  women  is  to  know  that  the  old-time  talk  about 
"unconscious  beauty"  is  a  fallacy.  The  conscious- 
ness of  beauty,  and  due  appreciation  and  use  of  it, 
is  its  great  aid  in  the  absolute  enslavement  of  man- 
kind. Was  there  ever  the  phenomenon  of  a  pretty 
woman  who  did  not  know  it?  As  for  men,  there 
are  thousands  of  them  who,  being  fantastically 
homely,  believe  themselves  to  be  reproductions  of 
the  Apollo  Belvidere. 

For  so  long  have  women  been  accused  of  an 
inborn  love  of  gossip,  that  mankind,  in  their  haste 
to  accept  ill-natured  doctrines,  are  ever  ready  to 
concede  tlie  truth  of  the  statement  that  she  cannot 
live  without  it.  I  am  satisfied  that,  in  some  poor 
way,  she  can  manage  to  get  along  without  a  next 
door  neighbor.  It  is  stranger  still  that  when,  by  an 
extraordinary  chance,  the  cabins  of  two  neighbors 
are  in  sight  of  each  other,  the  fact  seldom  adds  any- 
thing to  the  happiness  of  the  two  female  occupants. 
Do  they  often  see  each  others  Do  they  waste 
kisses  when  they  meet  ?  Are  they  inseparable 
friends?  There  is  not  a  surplus  of  any  of  these 
things.  Two  women,  here  as  elsewhere,  with  no 
third  party  to.  divert  attention,  are  not  apt  to  love 


[VOMAN  UNDUE  DIFFICULTIES.  251 


each  other  with  fervor.  Wliat  is  better,  they  do  not 
pretend  to.  But  neighborship  bears  a  broad  mean- 
ing in  these  regions.  The  chronicle  of  Jones's  wife's 
affairs  is  reasonably  well  kept  by  Thompson's  wife, 
who  lives  ten  or  twenty  miles  away.  And  this 
without  any  of  the  facilities  for  what  is  usually 
termed  gossip.  The  wayfarer  who  has  lost  a  pony, 
or  who  wanders  in  search  of  straying  cattle,  is  the 
disseminator  of  most  valuable  items  of  neighbor- 
hood news.  As  he  sits  on  his  horse  in  front  of  the 
door,  with  his  knee  on  the  pommel  and  his  chin  in 
his  palm,  he  relates  how  he  has  "heerd"  so  and  so. 
And  in  return  the  dame  delightedly  tells  of  her  own 
affairs, — the  "old  man's"  luck,  the  measles,  the 
"new  folks,"  etc.,  etc.,  and  always  ends  with  "Tell 
Mis' Jones  to  come  over."  These  things,  and  more, 
the  result  of  his  own  acute  observations,  the  simple 
cow-hunter  tells  to  "Mis'  Jones."  But  that  lady 
does  not  usually  "come  over."  That  is  a  mere 
form,  gone  through  with  for  politeness'  sake.  Some- 
times she  may  come,  but  not  for  the  visit's  sake. 
Here,  as  elsewhere;  there  are  mysterious  gatherings 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  the  cry  of  infancy  is 
heard  in  the  morning.  If  it  were  not  for  their 
babies,  these  curious  "neighbors"  would  probably 
never  have  any  other  acquaintance  than  that  which 
comes  about  by  proxy. 

The  life  of  the  woman  of  the  frontier,  while  in  its 
nature  transient,  seems  at  the  same  time  to  be  that 
to  which  she  was  born.  She  and  her  male  compan- 
ion never  think  of  that  fact,  and  are  themselves 
unconscious  of  the  wandering  instinct  that  brought 


252  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

them  hither,  and  that  is  the  characteristic  of  the 
class  to  which  they  belong.  If  they  were  placed  in 
an  Eden,  they  would  never  wait  to  be  thrust  out  by 
an  angel  with  a  flaming  sword,  and  would  be  anxious 
to  go  of  themselves,  satisfied  of  the  existence  of  a 
better  country.  But  the  spot  they  leave  never  again 
returns  to  native  wildness  ;  while  there  they  have 
accomplished  a  certain  purpose  as  the  forerunners 
and  vedettes  of  civilization.  Their  home  was  the 
wilderness,  and  they  came  next  after  the  savage  as 
occupants.  Slowly  they  creep  up  the  valley  of  the 
Arkansas,  already  growing  too  tame  for  them  with 
its  two  hundred  thousand  lately-gathered  people. 
The  twinkle  of  their  camp-fires  sparkles  upon  the 
verge  of  the  desert,  wherever  in  the  solitude  men 
may  abide  or  human  hope  can  find  a  foothold.  Past 
the  utmost  of  the  western  forts,  over  a  road  that 
stretches  like  a  path  through  hundreds  of  miles  of 
barren  silence,  they  straggle  toward  Arizona  and 
far-oif  realms  of  which,  as  yet,  they  neither  know 
nor  wish  to  know  anytliing.  Everywhere,  in  scat- 
tered nooks  and  in  sheltered  corners,  are  located 
the  rude  homes  where  they  have  stranded,  and 
where  they  await  a  return  of  the  migratory  deter- 
mination. Each  home  is  the  centre  of  those  sur- 
roundings and  appliances  which  are  the  absolute 
necessities  of  existence.  But  they  make  no  better 
homes.  Without  knowing  it,  they  did  not  come  to 
stay  ;  and  as  they  repeat  the  old  story  of  a  better 
country  beyond,  they  do  not  know  that,  with  a 
difi'erent   meaning  and    in  another  sense,  they  tell 


WOMAN  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES.  253 


not    only  their    own,  but    the    story   of  wandering, 
restless,  longing  humanity  everywhere. 

Thus  does  woman  take  her  part  in  a  most  unex- 
pected place  in  the  struggle  of  life.  It  is  not  an 
unimportant  one.  She  brings  into  the  world  a  con- 
stant levy  of  recruits,  to  be  trained  in  infancy  to 
wandering,  if  naught  else.  It  is  not  an  extravagant 
statement  to  say  that  without  her  the  final  accom- 
plishment of  the  end  for  which  isolation,  wildness, 
and  poverty  are  endured,  could  not  be  attained.  In 
that  which  we,  with  a  degree  of  egoism,  call  life, 
she  occupies  but  a  poor  place.  Her  character,  her 
ideas  of  things,  and  the  incidents  of  her  daily  life, 
are  so  far  from  the  absorbing  interests  which  occupy 
the  citizens  of  the  great  world  of  churches,  schools, 
banks,  gas-light,  and  society,  that  they  are  scarcely 
the  subjects  even  of  curiosity.  But  she  is  still  a 
woman,  and  an  example  of  the  capacities  of  her  sex 
in  the  exercise  of  that  virtue  which,  more  than  any 
other,  is  characteristic  of  woman — the  virtue  of 
silent  endurance.  If  her  hard  life  on  the  far  border 
lacks  idyllic  interest,  and  needs,  to  cover  its  hard 
outlines,  the  purple  garment  of  romance  and  poetry, 
it  is  a  compensating  reflection  that  with  its  uncon- 
scious purpose  it  still  goes  on,  and  tliat,  with  the 
carelessness  of  all  her  kind,  she  reciprocates  the 
indifference  of  the  world. 


THE  PRIEST  OF  EL  PASO. 

THE  town  of  El  Paso  del  Norte  is  a  bright  gem 
upon  a  green  ribbon  of  fertility  between  frown- 
ing mountains.  The  green  velvet  ribbon  is  the  valley 
of  the  Rio  Grande,  and  El  Paso  is  the  jewel  that  lies 
upon  it.  Such,  at  least,  is  its  description  as  set 
down  in  the  chronicles  of  the  fathers. 

This  important  point  in  the  Mexican  empire  was 
no  longer  young  when  Cincinnati  was  a  hamlet  in 
the  wilderness  and  St.  Louis  wiis  a  French  trading- 
post  ;  Indiana  a  beech-grown  wilderness,  and  Illinois 
a  wide  and  inhospitable  jungle  of  tall  grass.  Then 
the  Conestoga  wagons  carried  the  trade  of  the 
young  city  of  "William  Penn  to  the  valley  of  the 
Ohio,  and  the  waiting  heart  of  a  continent  lay 
unheard  of  and  uncared  for,  biding  its  time  amid 
dense  forests,  and  mighty  rivers  that  crawled  for 
thousands  of  leagues  through  an  endless  world  of 
silence.  The  three  generations  that  had  already 
lived  and  died  in  El  Paso  had  not  cared  for  these 
things,  or  even  heard  of  them.  The  priest,  in  his 
gown  and  hat,  went  his  ways  in  the  streets,  and  the 
laden  donkeys  stood  in  the  market-place.  The 
immediate  descendants  of  a  people  who  had  brouglit 
with  them  across  the  sea  at  least  their  primitiveness 
and  content,  passed  their  days  then,  as  now,  forget- 

254 


THE  PRIEST  OF  EL  PASO.  255 

ting  and  forgot  by  all  the  world.  Then,  as  now,  the 
days  were  days  of  sunshine  and  the  nights  were 
nights  of  stars.  The  rich  grape-clusters  ripened  in 
the  yellow  rays,  and  the  wine-vats  gave  forth  their 
odors  through  court-yard  doors,  as  the  blood-red 
juice  mellowed  and  grew  rich  within,  and  crept 
through  chinks  and  grain-holes,  and  lay  in  odorous 
pools  upon  the  floor.  And  the  church  was  tliej-e  as 
now ;  the  same  in  its  barbaric  attempt  at  magnifi- 
cence, only  the  huge  cedar  beams  of  the  roof  were 
not  then  covered  with  a  gray  mould,  and  the  central 
arch  had  not  sunk  and  cracked  until  its  keystone 
hung  perilously  in  its  niche.  The  broAvn  sandstone 
slabs  in  the  yard  tell  us  all  that,  as  we  read,  in  the 
ancient  and  half-eifaced  characters,  of  the  Dons  and 
Senoras  who,  in  the  Year  of  Grace  1700,  and  there- 
after, went  to  their  rest  in  the  peace  of  God. 

But  least  of  all  things  did  these  good  people 
suspect  what  their  grandchildren  should  live  to  see. 
The  Jesuit  himself,  best  judge  of  the  course  of  empire 
and  sage  prophet  of  political  changes  as  he  is,  did 
not  imagine  that  one  day  the  boundaries  of  an  infant 
republic  would  widen  until,  within  sight  of  his  church 
and  within  hearing  of  his  chanting,  and  only  upon 
the  opposite  shore  of  the  river  his  brethren  had  dis- 
covered, should  arise  a  Yankee  town,  named  after  a 
great  mechanic  who  was  also  a  lawgiver  and  sage, 
and  not  less  a  heretic  and  an  unbeliever;  and  that 
yet  a  little  further,  and  still  within  sight,  should 
float  in  his  own  sunshine  that  silken,  sheeny,  starry 
thing,  the  emblem  of  free  men  and  a  free  faith. 
Still  less  did  he  imagine  that  most  fateful  of  all  the 


256  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

invasions  of  his  faith  and  of  Mexico  —  the  iron  track 
that  narrows  and  glistens  afar  to  the  northward,  the 
rushing  engine  that  scorns  liis  narrow  ford,  and  the 
unearthly  howl  that  echoes  through  the  canons  that 
were  sacred  to  primeval  silence. 

It  was  seventy  years  ago.  But  the  old  man  with 
whom  the  two  strangers  talked  did  not  tell  them  of 
the  changes  between  seventy  years  ago  and  now. 
Those  seven  fateful  decades  were  not  on  his  thoughts, 
and  not  in  the  story  he  told.  But  his  long  white 
beard  and  thin  and  scattered  locks  and  shrunken 
limbs  suggested  it;  and  as  he  seated  himself  in  the 
leathern-bottomed  chair,  its  cedar  framework  pol- 
ished and  black  with  age  and  use,  they  were  the 
words  he  used  as  a  beginning :  "Seventy  years  ago, 
Caballeros,  —  seventy  years. ' ' 

It  was  a  curious  chamber  in  which  they  sat.  The 
walls  were  high  and  mouldy,  and  the  cob  webbed 
ceiling  was  far  up  in  shadow.  The  one  tall  window 
had  lost  all  its  glass  except  a  few  of  the  lower  panes, 
and  the  cotton  cloth  that  supplied  its  ])lace  fluttered 
as  the  autumn  night-wind  wandered  through.  By 
this  dilapidated  window  they  had  first  seen  the  inte- 
rior ;  for,  wandering  through  the  rambling  streets  at 
midnight,  one  is  curiously  attracted  by  a  light  which 
has  no  companion  in  all  the  silent  town,  and  which 
burns  dimly  in  the  narrow  window  of  a  crumbling 
church.  Standing  upon  the  grass-grown  walk  beside 
the  wall,  they  had  seen  within  a  tall  figure,  upon 
whose  shoulders  lay  the  thin  white  hair,  and  who, 
prone  upon  the  earthen  floor,  stretched  his  attenu- 
ated arms  toward  the  Mother  of  Sorrows  in  suppli- 


THE  PRIEST  OF  EL  PASO.  257 

cation  that  was  rigid,  silent,  pitiful.  He  was  alone. 
The  lamp  smoked  in  its  bracket  upon  the  wall,  and 
the  small  flame  in  the  little  iire-place  served  but 
to  throw  grotesque  shadows  through  the  narrow 
space.  The  star-lit  darkness  enfolded  the  old  town 
in  a  shadowy  cloak.  The  door-lights  were  put  out, 
the  last  guitar  was  silent,  and  the  far  peaks  seemed 
to  guard  in  the  darkness  a  scene  strange  enough  to 
unaccustomed  eyes  at  noonday,  and  sombre,  silent, 
and  mysterious  at  midnight  beneath  the  stars. 

They  were  strangers  ;  it  was  their  business  to 
learn.  Who  could  he  be  that  prayed  so  long  and 
silently?  Presently  he  rose  up  and  passed  out  into 
the  body  of  the  church,  and  a  moment  afterward  the 
bell  upon  the  gable  rang  a  few  sonorous  strokes.  At 
the  sound  in  the  stillness  some  sleeper  may  have 
turned  in  his  bed  and  uttered  his  shortest  prayer, 
and  turned  again  to  sleep.  To  go  around  and  walk 
up  the  aisle  of  graves,  and  stand  in  the  open  door, 
was  something  which,  prompted  by  the  curiosity  of 
youth,  was  soon  done.  The  old  man  stood  there, 
the  bell-rope  still  in  his  hand,  cautiously  listening. 
They  could  not  tell  if  there  was  surprise  in  his  eyes 
as  the}"  entered,  but  it  was  a  courteous  tone  in  which 
he  bade  them  wait  where  they  stood.  They  heard 
his  slow  footsteps  as  he  went  back  through  the 
darkness.  Presently  he  came  again,  the  lamp  held 
above  his  head,  peering  through  the  gloom 

"Would  you  pray,  seilors  ? "  said  he,  in  the 
piping  treble  of  age.  They  told  him  they  came  .not 
to  pray,  but  to  talk.  He  hesitated  a  moment 
between    doubt    and    courtesy,    and    then,    bidding 


268  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

them  follow,  led  the  way  over  the  hard  earthen 
floor,  past  tlie  altar-rail,  at  wliich  he  bent  his 
decrepit  knees,  by  images  whose  faces  had  a  ghostly 
look  in  the  dim  lamplight,  and  into  the  room  which 
seemed  his  chamber,  and  where  they  had  seen  him 
as  he  prayed. 

He  turned  to  them  with  a  gesture  that  had  in  it 
a  mixture  of  courtesy  and  irony,  waved  his  hand 
around  the  room  as  if  to  say,  "Here  it  is, — look," 
and  seated  himself  in  the  one  old  chair  and  gazed 
into  the  dying  Are.  The  place  had  a  faint  mouldy 
smell,  and  that  suggestion  of  falling  gradually  into 
extreme  age  that  is  difficult  to  describe.  The 
earthen  floor  was  worn  until  it  was  as  hard  and 
smooth  as  stone.  Upon  one  side  were  presses 
whose  doors  had  parted  from  hinge  and  hasp,  and 
whose  panels  dropped  away  piecemeal,  and  within 
them  were  to  be  dimly  seen  glimpses  of  yellow 
linen,  and  scarlet  vestments,  and  faded  and  tar- 
nished lace.  There  was  surely  nothing  there  that 
was  worth  a  question;  and  as  the  old  sacristan  —  for 
such  seemed  to  be  his  office  —  still  sat  with  his  back 
toward  them,  looking  at  the  glowing  coals,  they 
asked  him  none. 

But  in  the  midst  of  mouldiness  and  decay  one 
small  object  attracted  attention,  from  its  seeming 
freshness.  Against  the  wall,  and  immediately  be- 
neath a  crucifix,  was  a  frame  of  dark  wood,  some 
four  feet  long  and  about  twelve  inches  wide.  It 
shone  with  frequent  polishing,  and  within  it  hung  a 
curtain  of  green  cloth.  It  might  have  passed  unno- 
ticed save  for  a  suggestion  of  concealment  and  that 


THE  PRIEST  OF  EL  PASO.  259 

these  twQ  minds  were  more  intent  upon  discovery 
than  a  strict  regard  for  politeness.  Thev  were 
there  to  see,  and  should  they  not  know  what  lurked 
behind  that  small  green  curtain?  It  mattered  little, 
perhaps,  but  as  one  of  them  touched  its  corner  witli 
his  finger  the  aged  man  rose  up  with  a  polite  depre- 
cating gesture,  at  which  they  stood  ashamed.  He 
took  the  lamp  from  its  place  and  trimmed  it  afresh. 
Contrary  to  all  expectation  there  was  interest  and 
pleasure  in  his  eyes  as  he  approached  the  panel 
with  the  lamp  in  his  hand,  and  tenderly  raised  the 
curtain.  "Look,"  said  he;  "the  hand  that  made 
it  was  a  cunning  one.  He  who  painted  those  lines 
was  a  great  artist — one  of  tlie  greatest  of  his  times; 
but  none  will  ever  know  it.  In  the  old  land  across 
the  sea  are  great  paintings,  and  the  names  of  the 
makers  of  them  are  immortal.  Yet  he  whose  hand 
made  this  was  as  great  as  they.  He  and  they  might 
have  worked  together  and  you  might  know  who  I 
mean  —  which  is  not  possible.  You  do  not  know; 
you  will  never  know.  There  were  few  who  did,  and 
they  are  dead.  There  is  nothing  left  but  this — only 
this  poor  thing.  Ah,  he  was  a  poet,  an  artist,  rich, 
and  a  grandee.  He  was  as  handsome  as  a  god  and 
as  learned  as  a  sage.  And  this  is  left,  senors;  tlierc 
is  nothing  else." 

Whatever  opinion  either  of  them  had  formed  of 
the  old  man,  they  were  undoubtedly  mistaken  in  it. 
His  eyes  had  lighted  with  a  new  fire  as  he  spoke. 
He  was  not  the  peasant  and  churl  they  thought  him, 
and  no  one  need  have  been  mistaken  who  now  saw 
the  animated  look  in  his  keen  old  eyes,  his  clearly- 


260  FRONTIER  AR3IY  SKETCHES, 

cut  and  once  handsome  features,  and  the  lithe  figure 
that  ev^en  in  age  seemed  rather  of  the  camp  and  the 
sword  tlian  of  the  bell  and  gown. 

When  one  in  the  guise  of  a  peasant  descants 
upon  art,  the  piece  named  ought  certainly  to  attract 
a  moment's  attention.  The  carefully-covered  speci- 
men within  the  frame  was  a  piece  of  vellum,  dried 
and  horny  with  age,  on  which  was  traced  in  colors 
which  had  lost  none  of  their  brilliancy  a  single 
Latin  sentence.  The  head-letters  had  about  them 
all  the  intricate  and  graceful  beauty  of  the  old  art 
of  illumination,  and  in  elaborateness  of  design, 
brilliancy  of  coloring,  and  gracefulness  of  detail, 
the  work  was  that  of  no  unaccustomed  or  unskilful 
hand. 

But  as  the  strangers  scanned  the  picture  — for 
picture  it  might  really  be  called, —  the  words  them- 
selves seemed  remarkable.  There  was  a  meaning 
and  purpose  in  them,  and  in  the  place  they  occu- 
pied.    The  legend  ran  thus  : 

''ET  NE  ME  INDUCES  IN 

TENTATI0NE3I, 

SED  LIBERA  ME  A  MALO." 

''  Lead  me  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  me  from 
evil."  It  was  only  a  sentence  from  that  immortal 
form  of  prayer  which  has  been  sent  upward  by 
millions  of  hearts  for  these  eighteen  hundred  years, 
the  essence  and  meaning  of  all  supplication.  "Lead 
me  not  into  temptation";  why  was  it  written  here, 
where  the  world  seemed  shut  out,  even  without  a 
coll  and  a  priest's  vows? 


THE  PRIEST  OF  EL  PASO.  261 

"If  these  words  have  a  history,  father,  and  the 
man  jou  speak  of  made  them,  will  you  not  tell  us 
tlie  story?"  asked  one  of  them. 

There  are  two  conditions  in  which  age  delights: 
one  is  silence,  the  other,  extreme  garrulity.  The 
aged  man,  be  he  soldier,  statesman,  or  priest,  lives 
mainly  in  the  past.  Wlien  he  is  silent  he  thinks, 
not  of  what  he  shall  do  and  accomplish  and  be,  as 
he  did  when  he  was  young,  but  of  what  he  was  and 
what  he  remembers.  When  he  talks  he  tells  of 
those  things,  often  tediously  in  detail ;  and  either 
the  condition  of  silence  or  of  discourse  is  his  chief 
delight.  And  a  smile  crept  into  this  wakeful 
old  man's  features  again,  as  he  heard  the  request. 
"Why  not,  my  sons?"  he  said  ;  and  as  he  changed 
his  address  from  "Caballeros"  to  "sons,"  he  ex- 
pressed the  feeling  of  gratification  tliat  warmed  his 
old  heart.  The  strangers  could  guess  by  the  com- 
monest rules  of  thd^t  te^son  of  life  as  yet  so  ill- 
learned  by  them,  that  the  sacristan's  heart  clung  to 
this  spot  and  its  story  witli  a  concentrated  affection. 
A  memory  of  something  greater  or  grander  or  bet- 
ter, something  congenial  to  him  through  all  the 
dreams  and  thoughts  of  a  lonely  life,  kept  him  near 
the  spot. 

"Why  not,  my  sons,  since  there  is  ever  some- 
thing more  in  the  commonest  life  than  appears  upon 
the  surface  ?  My  race  is  one  that  loves  glory  and 
art  and  beauty,  but  we  love  also  God  and  Holy 
Clmrch.  You  are  from  the  nortli,  and  the  blood  in 
your  veins  runs  cold.  Your  reformers  —  the  here- 
tics who  have  led  so  many  astray,  and  have  traduced 


262  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

and  denied  the  Church  which  alone  can  save  —  were 
strong  men  here,"  and  lie  touched  his  forehead, 
''but  they  were  cold  here,"  placing  his  hand  upon 
his  heart.  "You  can  understand  your  Luther,  but 
you  cannot  understand  the  gallant  Knight  of  Pam- 
peluna,  brilliant  in  armor  and  flushed  with  glory, 
who  founded  the  Society  of  Jesus.  The  sword  and 
the  cross — your  cold  race  can  never  understand 
that."  He  had  arisen  as  he  spoke,  and  stretched 
forth  his  thin  right  arm  as  though  he  measured  an 
antagonist's  rapier. 

"  But  the  story,  father,"  said  one  of  tlie  listeners; 
"you  have  forgotten  the  story." 

The  sacristan  sank  again  into  his  chair,  and  the 
sadness  came  again  into  his  face.  "The  legend 
upon  the  wall  reminds  me  of  that,"  he  said.  "It 
was  placed  there  seventy  years  ago.  It  is  a  long 
time  —  a  very  long  time.  The  world  has  changed 
since  then;"  he  added,  "else  you  would  not  be  here. 
But  I  will  speak,  and  afterwards  you  shall  judge. 

"  Don  Juan  Salano  was  of  a  house  that  claimed  a 
drop  of  the  bluest  blood  of  Spain.  Its  members 
stood  ever  near  to  greatness  of  lineage  and  great- 
ness in  deed.  But  Don  Juan  was  the  princeliest  of 
them  all,  men  said,  because  God  made  him  so. 
Shall  I  describe  him  to  you,  my  sons  ?  Then  I  will 
say  again  that  you  cannot  understand  him :  he  was 
not  of  your  kind.  He  had  an  oval  face,  eyes  that 
shone  in  anger  or  kindness,  and  the  form  and  bear- 
ing that  a  soldier  and  a  noble  should  have.  How 
beautiful  his  eyes  were,  and  how  tender  and  strong 
his  voice !     He   was   the   manliest   man   in   Spain. 


THE  PRIEST  OF  EL  PASO.  263 

Men  admired  and  respected  him,  and  women  loved 
liim,  many  a  one.  He  was  learned  in  all  the  learn- 
ing of  his  time  —  though  it  was  nothing  then,  —  and 
last,  he  was  a  soldier.  He  could  not  have  been 
otherwise.  It  is  in  liis  race,  as  I  told  you,  to  love 
the  cross  and  the  sword.  I  will  not  tell  you  of  how 
he  fought  in  the  wars  of  his  country.  I  do  not  love 
to  talk  of  the  old  days  of  glory  and  strength.  They 
sadden  me.  But  I  tell  you  that  had  my  country 
remained  as  she  once  was,  had  her  sons  begotten 
tlieir  like  again,  our  country  had  ere  this  been  the 
mistress  of  the  world,  and  our  holy  church  the 
church  universal.  Ah,  she  had  fallen  before  you 
were  born  ;  she  was  falling  when  Don  Juan  Salano 
died  ;  but  I  know  what  she  was.  God's  will  be 
done. 

"But  Don  Juan  loved  not  only  glory;  he  loved 
also  the  church;  and  when  he  was  as  young  as  either 
of  you,  my  sons,  he  became  a  priest.  Do  you  smile  ? 
Ah,  carramha !  your  cold  race  knows  nothing  of 
either  glory  or  religion.  I  need  not  tell  you  bow  he 
became  a  priest ;  only  that  it  was  duty,  love,  con- 
science. Do  you  know  what  I  mean  by  the  last  ? 
No,  you  cannot  even  understand  that.  Well,  it  was 
that  Don  Juan  had  sinned  all  the  sins  of  noble 
youth,  and  in  time  he  would  make  atonement,  and 
purge  them  away  and  forget  them. 

"He  asked  of  the  council  a  mission,  and  they 
sent  him  here, —  even  here.  It  pleased  him,  for  he 
knew  not  that  Spain's  daughters  may  be  beautiful 
even  in  their  descendants,  and  frail  everyw^here. 
They  are  all  dead  now  who  remember  aught  of  the 


264  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

priest  who  came  to  the  parish  of  El  Paso  del  Norte 
from  across  the  sea.  But  I,  who  am  old,  have 
heard  them  tell  of  his  noble  face  and  his  graceful 
bearing,  which  even  a  priest's  garments  might  not 
conceal,  and  of  those  of  his  people  who  wished  he 
were  still  a  soldier. 

"You  think  he  made  a  mistake.  It  is  like  your 
people  thus  to  weigh  and  calculate.  He  did  not. 
Many  of  our  religion  have  borne  the  pyx  and  chalice 
who  could  strongly  wield  the  sword.  Many  times 
has  the  rosary  hung  in  the  rapier's  place. 

"I  told  you  in  the  beginning  he  was  a  great 
artist.  After  he  came  to  this  spot  he  was  doubtless 
lonely,  and  his  life  much  changed  from  what  it  had 
ever  been.  So  he  beguiled  the  time  with  colors. 
In  this  very  room  he  did  it,  and  his  easel  sat  there 
by  the  window,  and  where  I  sit  was  his  seat.  At 
one  time  he  painted  the  Mass  in  the  cathedral  at 
Barcelona.  Then  he  made  a  head  of  the  dead 
Christ,  and  many  others.  They  hung  here  and  in 
the  church,  and  there  were  many  of  them,  for  he 
labored  rapidly  and  diligently.  It  was  his  life,  his 
occupation.  He  did  nothing  but  paint  and  pray. 
How  beautiful  they  were,  and  how  his  soul  was 
absorbed  in  them  ! 

"The  last  he  ever  made  was  a  Madonna;  not  a 
sad  and  tearful  mother  of  Christ,  but  one  whose  fea- 
tures had  in  them  a  radiance,  not  of  faith  and  glory, 
but  of  human  beauty.  Ah,  and  the  face  was  one 
that  those  who  sleep  yonder  have  told  me  they 
knew,  and  all  El  Paso  knew.     It  was  the  gem  of  all 


THE  PRIEST  OF  EL  PASO.  265 


he  did,  and  a  curtain  liid  it  in  its  place,  and  those 
only  saw  it  who  chanced  to  catch  a  glimpse. 

"  B J  and  by  his  soul  became  absorbed  in  art, 
and  he  almost  forgot  he  was  a  priest.  He  knew  he 
was  forgetting,  they  say ;  but  while  he  did  hard 
penance,  he  still  painted.  He  loved  it ;  he  was  an 
artist,  my  sons  ;  he  could  not  help  it. 

''  Once  upon  a  time  there  came  a  dignitary  of  our 
empire  to  El  Paso ;  one  who  travelled  in  state, 
great  in  power  and  influence.  There  accompanied 
him  others  only  less  than  he.  He  came  to  this 
church,  and  scarce  waiting  to  pray,  passed  on  and 
entered  this  room.  Perhaps  he  had  heard  of  the 
priest  and  his  work.  He  stopped  and  gazed.  He 
called  his  comj)anions  also,  and  bade  them  look. 
He  was  astonished  and  surprised.  '  Where  is  he 
who  made  these  ? '  he  said  ;  '  bring  him  to  me,  for 
I  have  something  to  tell  him  to  his  own  great  good.' 
And  they  that  were  there  said,  '  It  is  only  the  padre 
Salano  who  did  it.'  '  What  ? '  said  he,  '  the  priest  ? 
I  care  not ;  he  has  that  in  him  that  should  not  rust 
here.'  Then  the  priest  came,  and  the  Senor  saw  his 
presence  and  face.  '  Father,'  said  he,  '  if  thou  wilt 
come  with  me  thou  shalt  have  that  which  shall  bet- 
ter please  thee,  for  surely  thou  art  mistaken  in  thy 
calling.     Wilt  sell  these?     Name  thy  sum.' 

"Then  Salano  hung  his  head,  and  turned  pale, 
and  when  at  last  he  would  not  sell,  the  Sefior 
departed,  thinking  strangely  of  the  man,  and  won- 
dering that  priests  were  oft  such  geniuses  and  such 
fools;  'but,'  said  he,  'thou  shalt  hear  from  me 
again  ere  long.' 


266  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

"  On  that  same  niglit  the  priest  locked  his  door — 
that  same  door,  mj  sons,  — and  was  for  a  hmg  time 
alone.  What  he  did  God  knows  —  His  will  be  done. 
But  it  is  certainly  told  how  a  great  smoke  arose 
from  the  chimney-top,  and  in  the  morning  he  lay 
there  so  prone  in  prayer,  so  wrapped  in  deep  devo- 
tion, that  none  dared  disturb  him.  This  that  I  tell 
you  is  indeed  true,  that  pictures,  canvas,  colors  and 
easel  were  never  seen  again.  The  lire  consumed  them 
or  the  flood  drowned  them,  and  the  priest  came  forth 
sad  and  very  silent,  and  went  his  ways  and  did  his 
offices  with  a  new  humility.  In  a  day  following  the 
few  who  ever  entered  here  saw  the  panel  in  the 
wall.  It  was  the  last ;  he  touched  brush  or  canvas 
no  more. 

"But,  my  sons,  a  man  may  pray  full  oft,  'Lead 
me  not  into  temptation,'  — he  may  write  it  in  colors 
never  so  beautiful  beneath  his  crucifix,  and  may  cast 
away  in  bitter  self-sacrifice  all  that  may  hinder  him 
aught, — and  there  may  still  be  left  one  whose  beauty 
he  can  neither  make  nor  mar,  and  thoughts  of  whom 
he  may  not  burn  or  put  away.  I  have  told  you  that 
this  priest  was  lordly,  learned,  and  beautiful.  I 
said  he  was  also  a  painter  and  a  soldier.  I  may  end 
by  saying  that  he  was  also  a  man.  He  might  burn 
his  priceless  Madonna ;  but  the  beautiful  face  that 
had  crept  into  it  he  could  not  so  easily  put  away.  It 
was  there  —  upon  the  street  and  in  the  open  door. 
Do  you  know  women,  my  sons  ?  If  you  do  you  are 
older  tlian  you  look,  and  have  learned  most  of  what 
there  is  to  know.  This  priest  had  defeated  but  the 
first  and  least  temptation.     He  was  accustomed  to 


THE  PRIEST  OF  EL  PASO.  267 

admiring  ejes,  for  there  are  men  from  whom  admi- 
ration is  scarce  concealed.  The  demi-gods  are  few, 
but  there  were  those  who  believed  this  man  to  be 
one.  There  is  no  tale-bearer  who  delivers  his  mes- 
sage so  easily  as  a  woman's  eyes  and  a  woman's 
rosy  cheek.  The  Dona  Anita  did  not  admire  the 
glorious  priest,  she  did  not  love  him,  —  she  adored 
him.  She  was  not  a  lunatic  in  any  greater  sense 
than  many  have  been  since  Adam.  But  the  mass 
liad  come  to  be  a  ceremonial,  not  for  her  soul,  but 
for  her  heart ;  not  for  God,  but  for  the  priest  who 
officiated.  Think  you  I  am  telling  a  strange  thing  ? 
Doubtless  ;  for  your  race  are  cold,  as  I  have  told 
you.  Yet  she  did  not  bring  her  love  and  lay  it  at 
his  feet.  Women  are  born  with  a  better  knowledge 
of  men  than  that.  But  there  was  no  land  to  which 
she  would  not  have  followed  him  afar  off,  no  fortune 
she  would  not  have  shared  with  him.  Yet  without 
hope,  since  he  was  a  priest. 

''  But  I  said  he  was  a  man,  and  he  knew  all  this. 
JN^ay,  it  was  not  that  which  troubled  him  ;  it  was  tlie 
other  fact  that  he  carried  in  his  heart  the  image  of 
the  Dofia  Anita.  The  Madonna's  face  was  also  her 
face,  and  perchance  she  had  heard  as  much.  He 
met  her  in  the  street,  and  a  thrill  passed  througli 
him  if  her  gown  but  touched  his  garments.  He  saw 
her  ftice  as  she  knelt  at  the  altar-rail,  and  —  God 
pardon  him!  — he  could  have  thrown  away  the  Host 
and  fled  from  all  his  vows  and  duties.  You  know 
that  this  priest  was  a  heroic  man,  and  was  a  priest 
for  conscience  sake,  and  for  that  cause  had  aban- 
doned that  only  other  thing  that  is  dearer  than  love 


268  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

—  fame.  Those  wlio  knew  have  told  me  that  from 
vesper-bells  to  matins  he  lay  all  the  night  upon  this 
floor  and  prajed  to  be  delivered.  He  was  wan  and 
worn  with  penance  and  fasting,  and  yet,  perchance, 
between  his  eyes  and  the  Blessed  Mother,  as  he 
prayed,  came  that  other  human  face  clothed  with  a 
nearer  love. 

"You  think,  as  you  listen,  that  there  can  be  but 
little  more  of  a  story  like  this.  But  I  am  old.  It 
pleases  me  to  tell  all,  and  you  will  listen.  It  came 
about,  by  and  by,  that  the  priest  and  the  Dofia  Anita 
understood  each  other,  whether  they  w^ould  under- 
stand or  no.  While  she  disguised  less  and  less  as 
she  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  him  across  the  great 
impossibility,  so  grew  more  and  more  upon  him  the 
irksomeness  of  his  holy  office.  But  they  dared  not 
speak,  scarce  even  look,  the  one  to  the  other.  There 
have  been  many  battles  fought  in  men's  souls,  harder 
and  more  costly  than  the  battles  of  kings.  This 
man  was  no  coward,  and  had  conquered  once.  But 
he  was  beleagured  now  indeed,  for  he  loved  his 
enemy. 

"It  is  told  that  one  niglit  in  this  room  the  priest 
thought  he  was  alone.  He  walked  back  and  forth, 
not  quiet  and  calm,  but  anxious  and  almost  despair- 
ing. As  he  passed  by,  his  shadow  fell  again  and 
again  upon  the  window,  and  there  was  one  near  who 
saw  it  each  time.  There  are  times  when  men,  and 
priests,  lose  faith  in  penance  and  prayer.  This  may 
have  been  to  him  one  of  those  times.  Presently 
she  who  watched  the  window  knew  tliat  he  stopped 
opposite  it  and    stood  still.       Then  there  was  the 


THE  PRIEST  OF  EL  PASO.  269 

sound  of  a  hurned  movement,  tlie  faint  clink  of 
metal,  and  finally  tlie  outer  door  was  opened,  and 
there  stood  at  the  threshold  a  figure  in  plumed 
helmet,  the  baldric  upon  his  breast  and  the  bright 
scabbard  upon  his  thigh.  The  lamplight  shone 
upon  him  as  he  looked  about  him,  not  guessing  that 
any  saw  him.  Ah,  my  sons,  it  was  not  altogether 
boyish.  In  thinking  and  longing,  doubting  and 
loving,  can  we  wonder  that  it  came  upon  him  to 
once  more  know  in  secret  tlie  feel  of  the  sw^rd  — 
the  sensation  of  a  far-gone  life  ?  The  best  of  us  do 
much  that  we  would  not  wish  the  world  to  smile  at, 
and  a  soldier  may  not  be  blamed  if  he  hides  among 
a  poor  priest's  effects  the  plume  that  has  waved  in 
the  smoke  of  battle,  and  the  sword  he  has  drawn  in 
the  defence  of  his  country. 

"If  we  were  women,  we  might  know  how  she 
fell,  who  watched  him  then.  It  would  seem  that  she 
forgot  the  reality  and  saw  only  the  vision.  She 
came  toward  him,  and  as  she  drew  near  to  where  he 
stood,  he  saw  her.  He  did  not  flee.  I  have  said  he 
was  but  a  man.  She  came  very  near, — nay,  seated 
herself  at  his  feet.  'Tis  an  old  story.  As  she  took 
his  passive  hand,  perhaps  he  could  look  down  into 
the  beautiful  eyes.  Women  are  not  slaves,  neither 
are  their  lovers  ;  but  sometimes  they  dispute  who 
shall  be  the  humblest.  The  town  was  asleep  as  it  is 
to-night.  The  priest  forgot  himself  in  the  soldier 
and  the  man,  and  stooped  and  kissed,  not  her  hand 
—  the  first  woman's  hand  that  had  touched  his  for 
years, —  but  her  very  lips. 

"Men  are  men  everywhere,   and  the   priest   re- 


270  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


mained  a  priest  until  the  Sabbath  morning.  High 
mass  came  again.  I  go  not  so  far  as  to  tell  what 
may  be  in  men's  hearts.  Even  if  his  offices  at  the 
altar  of  Holy  Church  were  heartless,  many  men's 
have  been  so  ere  now.  We  cannot  tell.  But  the 
Dona  Anita  came  and  knelt  at  the  altar-rail.  The 
priest  gave  her  that  which  is  the  body  of  Christ. 
No  wonder,  as  he  saw  her  face,  the  flood  that  is 
without  volume  or  sound,  and  which  none  see,  over- 
whelmed him.  He  dropped  the  chalice  from  his 
hands,  tore  the  robe  from  his  shoulders,  and,  com- 
ing out  from  his  place,  passed  through  the  startled 
people,  out  at  the  open  door,  and  hastened  away 
from  his  office,  from  the  bosom  of  Holy  Church, 
from  honor,  conscience  and  hope  forever.  The 
legend  was  written  in  vain,  and  stands  in  its  place 
only  to  remind  us  all,  my  sons,  that  love  will  con- 
quer where  fame,  glory  and  wealth  may  be  beaten 
in  the  contest." 

The  old  man  arose  and  took  the  lamp  again  from 
the  bracket,  and  bowed  toward  the  strangers.  When, 
past  the  altar  and  images,  and  through  the  shadows, 
they  again  reached  the  open  door,  the  weird  hour  of 
early  dawn  was  upon  the  world.  He  stood  in  the 
doorway,  and  the  light  wind  played  with  his  thin 
locks,  and  the  lamplight  glanced  across  his  sharply- 
outlined  features,  as  he  bade  them  farewell.  The 
man  was  as  remarkable  as  his  story ;  and  one  of  his 
guests  turned  before  he  departed,  for  another  word. 

"Father,"  said  he,  "we  are  grateful  to  you  for 
your  courtesy,  and  express  our  thanks ;  but  will  you 
not  tell  us  who  you  are  ? " 


THE  PRIEST  OF  EL  PASO  2Y1 

"Others  could  tell  you  that,  my  son,  even  better 
than  I  can.  But  you  are  strangers.  My  name  is 
mine  only  by  inheritance,  and  not  by  baptism.  Men 
call  me  Garcia,  for  so  the  Church  has  named  me ; 
but  my  father  was  a  soldier  and  a  nobleman,  and  I 
disclaim  him  not.  I  am  the  son  of  Sen  or  Don  Juan 
Salano,  for  whose  soul's  repose  I  nightly  pray,  and 
my  mother  sleeps  in  the  last  place  but  one,  on  the 
right  liand  as  you  go  out.  God  go  with  you.  Adios.'^^ 
And  the  old  sacristan  turned  and  went  back  among 
the  memories  and  shadows,  to  recall,  perchance,  the 
beautiful  face  of  that  Doiia  Anita  who  was  his 
mother,  long  since  mouldering  in  that  "last  place 
but  one  as  you  go  out,"  and  upon  the  fallen  priest 
who  was  his  father. 


XV. 
A  FIGHT  BTiTWEEN  BUFFALOES. 

HE  was  a  scarred  and  shaggy  veteran,  and  his 
general  appearance  indicated  that  lie  had  been 
ftiaking  a  good  fight  of  it  for  a  week  or  more.  Yet 
he  seemed  to  be  unwilling  to  accept  the  fact,  begin- 
ning to  be  very  obtrusive,  that  the  day  of  his  domin- 
ion was  over.  Like  many  a  human  imitator,  he  was 
uncertain  upon  the  delicate  point  of  his  personal 
status,  and  lingered  sulkily  upon  the  outskirts  of 
society.  I  dare  say  that  in  the  maintenance  of  his 
dignity  he  had  thus  come  back  to  the  herd,  and 
scowled  at  his  descendants,  and  pawed,  and  groaned, 
and  made  himself  generally  disagreeable,  innumer- 
able times.  For  the  long  hair  upon  his  neck  was 
tangled  and  pulled  until  tufts  of  it  were  loose  and 
unkempt.  The  outer  fibres  of  his  short  black  horns 
hung  in  filaments  and  splinters.  His  wicked  little 
eyes  had  a  reddish  look,  and  his  venerable  beard 
was  limp  and  froth-wet  beneath  his  chin.  Nor  were 
these  the  only  indications  of  his  unhappy  condition. 
Sundry  long,  oblique  hairless  lines  appeared  upon 
his  flanks,  and  he  put  his  left  fore  foot  down  ten- 
derly, very  likely  remembering  at  the  same  time  a 
square  jounce  he  had  lately  got  in  the  shoulder  from 
some  strong-necked  youngster  who  had  taken  it 
up(m  himself  to  castigate  his  father, 

272 


A  FIGHT  BETWEEN  BUFFALOES.  273 

He  stood  meditating  upon  the  outskirts  of  the 
herd  now,  and  pretended  to  be  eating  grass,  and  it 
was  as  nice  herbage  as  a  bull  whose  teeth  were 
likely  none  of  the  best  could  desire  —  the  first  ten- 
der growth  of  the  early  spring.  But  he  did  not 
seem  to  enjoy  it',  and  ate  as  one  eats  whose  mind  is 
preoccupied.  At  intervals  of  a  minute  or  so  he 
would  look  around  over  his  shoulder  quickly,  and 
groan,  and  stand  as  if  thinking,  and  then  pretend  to 
eat  again.  To  this  distressful  pantomime,  not  one 
of  ten  thousand  other  sliaggy  grazers  paid  the  least 
attention.  They  were  busy.  I  could  hear  them 
cropping  the  grass  as  I  lay  there,  with  a  continual 
rasping  sound.  It  was  only  too  evident  that,  of  ajl 
those  cows  to  whom  he  had  been  attentive  for  so 
long,  who  had  so  often  been  combed  into  curliness 
on  the  happy  mornings  of  the  long  ago  by  his  tongue, 
and  whom  he  had  led  and  herded,  and  fought  for, — 
of  all  the  little,  stupid,  hump-backed  calves,  so  far  as 
he  knew,  his  own  offspring, — there  was  not  one  who 
did  not  wish  him  disposed  of  according  ,to  buffalo 
destiny,  or  who  cared  how  soon  his  monumental 
skull  should  be  left  standing  on  its  base  uj)on  the 
bleak  hill-top,  with  scarce  so  much  as  a  thigh-bone 
or  a  faded  tuft  of  brown  hair  b}^  way  of  obituary. 

But  this  old  one  was  still  a  buffalo  and  a  bull, 
and  he  kept  creeping  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  herd. 
It  may  have  been  only  yesterday  that  he  had  come 
back  defiant  and  in  a  rage,  shaking  his  head,  and 
breathing  out  threatenings  and  slaughter,  declaring 
unmistakably  that  there  had  not  been  a  fair  fight, 
and  fhat  if  the  company  desired  to  see  a  handsome 
18 


274  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

and  scientific  combat,  some  youngster  liad  better 
come  out  and  indulge  himself  with  a  ride  upon  his 
venerable  ancestor's  horns.  I  cannot  say  positively 
that  all  this  unseemly  bragging  was  done  by  the  old 
one,  but  it  is  likely  that  it  was,  and  much  more,  and 
that  under  the  sting  of  repeated  defeats  he  had  made 
himself  so  odious  to  his  rivals  that  he  was  now  glad 
to  nurse  defeat  and  a  sore  shoulder  upon  the  out- 
skirts of  the  herd,  but  still  near,  and  waiting  for  his 
present  unpopularity  to  blow  over. 

I  might  have  killed  him  by  this  time,  and  ended 
his  troubled  career;  for  he  was  lawful  game  and  a 
fair  shot,  and  that  was  what  I  had  come  for.  But  I 
grew  interested  in  his  precarious  fortunes,  a  serene 
spectator  behind  a  bank  and  a  convenient  bunch  of 
sage.  He  reminded  me  of  something  I  had  dimly 
seen  in  my  observations  of  my  own  species, —  he 
was  so  valorous,  and  yet  so  prudent.  But  pres- 
ently a  calf  came  slowly,  and  in  an  investigatory 
way,  toward  him.  A  very  immature  and  foolish  ani- 
mal he  looked,  witli  his  little  black  nose  wet  and 
wrinkled,  his  little  brown  flanks  distended  with  ful- 
ness, and  the  white  milk-froth  depending  in  long 
threads  from  his  lips.  Boggle-eyed  inexperience 
doubtless  moved  him  as  he  came  slowly  near  his 
father,  and  the  two  had  just  touched  noses  amicably, 
when  his  mother  also  took  it  into  her  head  to  come. 
Then  came  another  cow,  and  another,  and  presently 
quite  a  little  company  of  females  had  gathered  there, 
and  the  battered  old  warrior  began  to  look  about 
him  very  complacently.  This  was  what  brought 
about  a  very  unfortunate   difficulty,  and   made   an 


A  FIGHT  BETWEEN  BUFFALOES.  275 


unpleasant  forenoon  of  it  for  the  old  one.  I  wonder 
he  did  not  think  of  the  result.  He  might  have 
known  that  he  was  supposed  to  have  had  his  good 
time,  and  had  arrived  at  an  age  when  the  young 
bloods  of  the  herd  would  not  longer  look  compla- 
cently upon  his  hoary  gallantries. 

A  fellow  almost  as  big  as  the  old  one  must  have 
seen  this  social  gathering  from  some  distance,  and 
threw  out  certain  intimations  of  his  approach.  Lit- 
tle plumes  of  dust,  very  skilfully  cast,  rose  grace- 
fully in  the  air  above  the  crowd,  and  there  were 
certain  ominous  snortings  and  lugubrious  groans. 
The  old  one  stopped  chewing,  with  a  green  mouthful 
between  his  teeth,  and  listened.  The  cows  looked 
about  them  complacently,  with  an  air  that  seemed  to 
say  that,  while  the  disturbance  was  an  unseemly  one, 
it  was  none  of  theirs,  and  crowded  off  to  one  side. 
Yery  soon  the  antagonists  were  facing  each  other. 
The  old  boy  straightened  out  his  wisp  of  a  tail  to  a 
line  with  his  back,  gathered  his  four  black  hoofs 
together,  arched  his  spine,  and  placing  his  nose  close 
to  the  sod,  stood  shaking  his  huge  front  as  thougli 
he  wished  finally  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  its  freedom 
from  all  entanglements  that  might  hinder  him  from 
tossing  this  ambitious  youngster  over  his  head,  and 
breaking  him  in  twain. 

I  have  often  wondered  at  the  quality  of  tluit 
unreasoning  valor  characteristic  of  the  higher  ani- 
mals, compared  to  which  the  highest  human  courage 
is  but  ordinary  prudence.  These  two  did  not  sto[) 
to  tliink.  One  was  old  and  lame,  and  knew  he  was  ; 
and  the  other  would  have  engaged  any  antagonist 


276  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

wliatever  whom  he  had  never  seen  before.  Any 
two  droop-horned  farmer's  bulls  will  get  together 
and  fight  it  out  to  the  death  of  one  or  both,  and 
merely  for  the  love  of  it.  It  is  not  for  fame,  or 
glory,  or  even  for  jealousy  or  the  gratification  of 
revenge.  Midnight,  and  any  lonesome  hill-side,  are 
good  enough.  There  is  no  parleying,  no  boasting. 
Have  at  you.  Sir  Hereford !  —  Whack !  and  when 
those  two  curly  frontlets  come  together,  it  is  worth 
one's  while  to  be  there  to  see. 

Taurus,  in  all  his  kinds  and  varieties,  is  the  lord- 
liest of  beasts.  Where  are  such  gladiatorial  thews 
as  lie  along  that  neck  ?  where  such  gnarled  and  sup- 
ple might  as  resides  in  those  creased  and  corrugated 
thighs  ?  When  such  a  one  has  grown  tired  of  his 
little  field  and  his  limited  acquaintance,  how  easily 
he  walks  out  and  away  from  them,  and  goes  ya- 
hooing  and  wow-wow-ing  np  and  down  the  lanes  of 
the  neighborhood  !  He  did  not  escape ;  he  does  not 
care  who  sees  or  hears  him,  and  throughout  his 
wanderings  he  marches  with  inimitable  and  delib- 
erate stateliness.  And  yet  the  career  that  should 
spread  consternation  through  a  parish  is  usually 
brought  to  a  close  by  one  barefooted  small  boy,  who 
drives  the  colossal  monster  back  to  his  field  and  his 
harem,  and  can  do  it  with  only  a  bit  of  a  stick  to 
scare  him  with,  and  with  a  torn  hat  full  of  blackber- 
ries under  his  arm. 

The  other  bufi*alo  came  slowly,  and  twisting  his 
tail  from  side  to  side  in  circles  that  were  very  delib- 
erate and  grand  for  so  small  an  organ.  I  shall 
never  understand  why,  in  the   economy  of  nature, 


A.  FIGHT  BETWEEX  BUFFALOES.  2TT 

this  inadequate  appendage  was  ever  liung  behind  so 
huge  an  animal  as  a  buffalo  bull,  though  upon  occa- 
sions like  the  present  he  undoubtedly  makes  the 
most  of  it.  He  took  pains  to  cause  it  to  be  dis- 
tinctly understood  that  every  hair  he  wore  was 
angry.  His  ej'es  rolled  in  continually-increasing 
redness.  His  black,  sharp  horns  were  encrusted 
with  earth  gathered  while  he  had  been  tearing  the 
sod  to  pieces  in  the  ecstasy  of  valor.  His  nostrils 
were  distended,  and  he  halted  in  his  slow  advance 
to  toss  the  broken  turf  high  over  his  shoulders  with 
his  preliminary  pawing.  He  was  a  tactician  of  no 
mean  abilities  after  his  kind.  He  made  pretences 
of  flank  movements,  and  turned  his  shaggy  shoul- 
ders, first  one  and  then  the  other,  toward  his  antag- 
onist, as  asking  him  if  he  dared  to  come  and  smite 
him  in  the  ribs.  But  the  other  was  equally  learned 
in  the  arts  of  the  field,  and  stood  shaking  his  huge 
head,  as  who  should  say,  "Come  hither  and  be 
annihilated." 

But  this  by-play  of  battle  could  not  last  long. 
They  by  no  means  intended  to  take  it  out  in  vapor- 
ing. I,  who  saw  it,  found  the  desire  to  see  it  all 
momentarily  grow  upon  me.  It  was  not  by  any 
means  that  I  had  always,  upon  the  occasion  of  a 
fight,  felt  an  uncontrollable  desire  to  stay.  But  this 
fight  was  not  mine,  and  I  was  not  even  in  sight. 
But,  recalling  sunny  afternoons  in  crowded  amphi- 
theatres, where  many  a  jpicador  was  overthrown,  ^ 
and  many  a  curved  horn  was  thrust  remorselessly 
into  the  bowels  of  blindfolded  horses,  and  five  tawny 
bulls  died  like  Caesar  to  please  a  roaring  crowd,  I 


278  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

was  never  more  interested  than  now.  I  wondered 
why  I  was  thus  ah)ne  —  why  there  was  no  one  to 
watch  with  me  this  Titanic  battle.  And  there  was. 
Peering  over  the  edge,  like  myself,  sat  a  little  gray 
thief  of  a  coyote,  and  beyond  him  another  and 
another.  I  could  hear  him  faintly  whine,  and  could 
see  him  wipe  his  attenuated  chops  with  his  red 
tongue,  and  leer  and  long. 

The  challenger  advanced  to  within  a  few  feet  of 
his  antagonist,  getting  angrier  and  angrier  as  he 
came.  Suddenly  there  was  a  dull  crash,  which  had 
in  it  something  Homeric.  A  rattling  onset  of  that 
kind  leaves  one  in  no  doubt  as  to  why. the  horns  of 
buffaloes  have  a  dilapidated  and  splintered  appear- 
ance at  the  apices.  Then  there  was  a  long  and 
steady  push,  in  which  every  tendon  of  the  huge 
bodies  seemed  strained  to  the  utmost  tension.  After 
repeated  vigorous  thrusting,  accompanied  by  tre- 
mendous snortings,  there  was  a  strategic  easing  oif, 
and  then  a  sudden  collision  which  pressed  the  two 
heads  to  the  earth  in  an  even  balance  of  strength. 
Neither  beast  dared  relax  a  muscle  or  retreat  an 
inch,  for  fear  of  that  fatal  charge  upon  the  flank,  or 
that  perilous  twist  of  the  neck  which  means  defeat. 

And  now  the  cows  returned,  and  looked  compla- 
cently on,  and  the  very  calves  began  to  shake  their 
stupid-looking  heads  in  the  first  vague  instinct  of 
combativeness  inspired  by  the  battle  of  the  bulls. 
Tlie  young  lordlings  of  the  herd  distended  their 
nostrils,  elevated  their  tails,  and  yet  forbore  any 
active  interference.  It  was  a  duel  a  Voutrance.  A 
moment's  relaxation  of  the  tremendous  strain  only 


A   FIGHT  BETWEEN  BUFFALOES.  279 

resulted  in  the  sliaggy  heads  coming  together  again 
with  a  dull  thump,  and  a  renewal  of  tlie  stubborn 
pushing  that  might  have  moved  a  freight-train.  It 
became  a  matter  of  lungs  and  endurance  ;  and  the 
froth  began  to  drop  in  long,  tenacious  strings  from 
their  lips,  and  their  eyes  to  glare  dimly  through 
what  seemed  clots  of  blood.  I  could  hear  their 
labored  breathing  even  where  I  lay,  and  see  the 
strained  tendons  stand  out  across  the  thighs  and 
along  the  thick  necks. 

But  this  dead-set  of  strength  could  not  -last. 
Every  moment  of  time  was  telling  upon  the  failing 
strength  and  shorter  wind  of  the  valorous  old  cru- 
sader, who  still  fought  for  the  loves  of  his  youth. 
His  lame  foot  slipped,  and  a  knowledge  of  this 
slight  disaster  seemed  to  reach  his  antagonist  more 
quickly  than  a  flash  of  light.  N'o  skilful  fighter 
ever  urged  his  advantage  more  suddenly.  There 
wfis  a  huge  lunge,  a  sound  as  of  horns  slipping  upon 
each  other,  a  spring  forward,  and  the  horn  of  the 
younger  bull  had  made  a  raking  upward  stroke 
through  the  flank  of  his  antagonist.  The  fight  now 
became  more  one-sided,  and  more  bloody.  Again 
and  again  the  old  one  tried  to  make  his  old  ward  of 
head  to  head,  and  as  often  his  more  active  antago- 
nist caught  him  behind  the  shoulder.  With  the  red 
agony  of  defeat  in  liis  eye,  and  the  blood  flowing 
from  the  long  wounds  in  his  flanks,  he  still  refused 
to  be  conquered.  With  failing  strength,  and  limbs 
which  refused  any  longer  to  serve  him,  he  finally 
stood  at  bay,  with  open  mouth  and  hanging  tongue, 
pitifully  panting,  unable  to  fight  and  disdaining  to 


280  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES, 

retreat.  He  was  pushed,  and  yielded  sullenly.  He 
made  no  attempt  to  shield  his  flank,  and  patiently 
endured  all  that  came.  The  original  plan  of  non- 
interference was  now  abandoned,  and  the  young 
lords  of  the  herd  began  to  gather  round  him,  and 
snort,  and  shake  their  heads,  and  give  him  an  occa- 
sional maledictory  dig  in  the  ribs,  by  way  of  express- 
ing their  contempt  for  him.  The  cows  came  and 
sniffed  at  him,  and  indulged  themselves  in  spiteful 
feminine  butts,  and  walked  away.  Their  manner 
seemed  meant  to  imply  that  they  had  always  regard- 
ed him  as  a  disagreeable  old  muff,  and  that  they, 
were  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  express  their  heart- 
felt sentiments  in  regard  to  him. 

Through  all  this  the  old  bull  stood  sullen,  — 
whipped,  but  still  obstinate.  Gradually  the  herd 
left  him  to  himself,  and  the  vast  crowd  of  ^spectators 
and  intermeddlers  wandered  slowly  away.  It  was 
no  more  to  them  than  some  other  man's  misfortune 
is  to  the  reader  or  to  myself.  He  did  not  even  look 
around.  He  was  forced  at  last  to  accept  his  sen- 
tence of  banishment,  and  go  and  live  as  long  as  he 
could  alone,  or  in  the  odious  company  of  other  bulls 
like  unto  himself,  and  fight  his  last  fight  with  the 
coyotes,  and  die. 

.  But  that  calf  came  out  to  see  him  again.  I  say 
that  calf,  because  it  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  same 
who  had  brought  on  this  last  unpleasantness,  — 
though,  for  that  matter,  they  are  all  alike.  The  calf 
came,  and  arched  his  back,  and  elevated  his  nine- 
inch  tail,  and  pawed,  and  gave  his  venerable  parent 
to  understand,  in  the  plainest  terms,  that  he  held 


A  FIGHT  BETWEEN  BUFFALOES.  281 

himself  in  readiness  to  give  him  a  terrible  drubbing, 
if  he  had  not  already  been  sufficieutlj  gratified.  It 
was  exasperating  to  see  the  young  milk-sop  imitate 
the  actions  of  his  seniors,  while  the  poor  old  bull 
did  not  so  much  as  look  at  him.  But  his  calfship 
was  inclined  to  push  matters,  and  finally  made  a 
pass  which  placed  his  foolish  head  with  a  considera- 
ble thump  against  the  old  one's  nose.  He  stood  a 
moment  with  the  air  of  having  hurt  himself  a  little, 
and  ambled  off  to  his  mother. 

The  old  one  did  not  move,  and  seemed  hardly  to 
notice  this  babyish  persecution.  But  I  suspect  it 
broke  his  heart.  He  wandered  slowly  down  toward 
the  sedge,  limping  and  sorrowful ;  and  I  lay  there, 
forgetful  of  the  long  army  gun  beside  me,  only 
regretting  that  there  had  been  no  one  to  bet  with 
upon  the  result  of  the  battle,  or  to  stand  boldly  up 
and  confirm  this  story  afterwards.  The  sun  rose 
high  in  the  heavens,  the  wind  veered,  there  was  a 
sudden  panic,  and  the  vast  multitude  disappeared 
beyond  the  hills,  leaving  me  to  plod  back  to  camp 
guiltless  of  blood, —  the  three  coyotes  looking  after 
with  familiar  indifi'erence, —  and  to  muse  meanwhile 
upon  the  problem  of  universal  injustice  and  disaster, 
only  to  be  accounted  for  by  recounting  to  ourselves 
that  ancient  and  somewhat  diaplianous  narrative  of 
Eden,  an  apple,  a  woman,  and  the  devil. 


XYI. 
OHIOQUITA. 

"FF  you  stand  upon  a  certain  bluff,  on  the  south 
-L  side  of  tlie  Arkansas  river,  a  few  miles  above 
the  mouth  of  the  Purgatoire,  in  the  earliest  dawn 
of  morning,  you  will  be  a  witness  of  a  scene  not 
easily  forgotten  in  future  wanderings.  Eastward 
stretches  dimly  away  the  winding,  sedgy  valley  of 
the  dreariest  river  of  the  west,  treeless,  sandy, 
desolate.  All  around  you  are  the  endless  undula- 
tions of  the  wilderness.  Beneath  you  are  the  yet 
silent  camps  of  those  who  are  here  to-day  and  gone 
to-morrow.  Westward  is  something  you  anticipate 
rather  than  see;  vague  and  misty  forms  lying  bhie 
upon  the  horizon.  But  while  the  world  is  yet  dark 
below  and  around  you,  and  there  is  scarcely  the 
faintest  tinge  of  gray  in  the  east,  if  you  chance  to 
look  northward  you  will  see  something  crimson  high 
up  against  the  sky.  At  first  it  is  a  roseate  glow, 
shapeless  and  undefined.  Then  it  becomes  a  cloud- 
castle,  battlemented  and  inaccessible,  draped  in 
mist,  and  hung  about  with  a  waving  curtain  of 
changing  purple.  But  as  it  grows  whiter  and  clearer, 
the  vague  outlines  of  a  mighty  shape  appear  below 
it,  stretching  downward  toward  the  dim  plain. 
What  you  see  is  the  lofty  pinnacle  that  has  gleamed 
first  in  the  flying  darkness,  sun-kissed  and  glorified 


CHICQUITA.  283 


in  the  rosy  mornings  of  all  the  cycles,  the  last  to 
catch  tlie  fading  liglit  of  all  the  days.  It  is  Pike's 
Peak,  ninety  miles  away. 

Perchance  before  you  turn  to  leave  the  spot,  you 
may  absently  glance  at  your  immediate  surround- 
ings. If  you  do,  you  will  have  before  you  at  once 
the  two  great  types  of  changelessness  and  frailty;  for 
at  your  feet,  scarce  noticed  in  its  lonely  humility,  is 
a  single  low  mound,  turfless  and  yellow,  unmarked 
by  even''  so  much  as  a  cross  or  an  inscription,  but 
nevertheless  telling  that  old  story  which  never  needs 
an  interpreter,  that  here  rests  another  of  the  wander- 
ers, and  that  there  is  no  land  so  lonely  that  it  has 
not  its  graves. 

There  may  be  a  story  more  or  less  interesting 
connected  with  every  one  of  the  unmarked  graves  of 
the  border.  The  rough  lives  that  end  here  have  all 
a  history.  But  no  one  remembers  it.  Here,  as  in 
busy  streets,  the  lives  which,  once  ended,  are  deemed 
worthy  of  remembrance,  are  few  and  very  far  be- 
tween. But  this  lone  and  wind-kissed  mound  upon 
the  hill-top,  albeit  unmarked  and  seldom  seen,  has 
about  it  some  slight  interest  not  common  to  the  rest; 
for  it  is  the  grave  of  a  woman,  and  one  of  the  strong- 
est and  most  faithful  of  her  sex.      This  is  her  story. 

Years  ago,  a  victim  of  the  nomadic  instinct  named 
Lemuel  Sims — a  man  who  had  first  forsaken  his  home 
in  the  Missouri  bottoms  for  a  gold-hunting  expedi- 
tion to  California,  and  after  many  changes,  had  again 
started  eastward, —  found  himself  stranded  upon  the 
inhospitable  banks  of  the  Arkansas,  within  the  magic 
circle  of  protection  around  old  Fort  Lyon.      Sims 


284  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


had  grown  middle-aged  in  wandering,  and  had  con- 
sumed almost  the  last  remains  of  that  dogged  per- 
sistence and  energy  in  migration  which  is  the  char- 
acteristic of  his  class,  by  the  time  he  had  reached  a 
spot  than  which  it  would  have  been  hard  to  find  one 
more  entirely  wanting  in  attractiveness.  But  he 
was  not  alone,  for  he  had  a  wife  who  had  been  his 
companion  in  all  his  journeyings,  and  three  daugh- 
ters, who  had  irregularly  come  in  upon  his  vicis- 
situdes. In  sending  those  guests  who  are  often 
unwelcome,  but  are  never  turned  away,  it  has  been 
remarked  that  our  fates  are  not  always  kind;  and  it 
is  certain  that  the  elder  Sim's  Penates  had  been 
especially  inconsiderate.  What  he  had  needed  was 
boys;  boys  to  whom  should  come  kindly  the  lot  of 
the  rancher,  of  the  Indian  fighter,  the  hunter,  and 
the  poker-player, — who  should  diligently  follow  in 
the  footsteps  of  their  wild  predecessors,  and  live 
hard  and  die  suddenly. 

"When  Sims  came  to  this,  his  last  residence,  the 
order  of  march  was  as  follows:  First,  Sims,  a  hun- 
dred yards  in  advance,  and  across  his  shoulder  the 
long  rifle  that  now  has  a  place  in  museums,  but 
which  has  made  a  larger  subordinate  figure  in  Amer- 
ican history  than  all  the  Winchesters  and  Sharps. 
Secondly,  two  mules  and  an  old  wagon,  Mrs.  Sims 
at  the  helm.  Thirdly,  three  cows,  some  calves,  and 
five  dogs ;  and  behind  all,  tw^o  freckled,  brawny, 
barefoot  girls.  The  third  and  youngest,  the  darling 
of  the  family, — too  3^oung,  indeed,  for  service, — 
occnpied  a  cosy  nest  among  the  household  goods, 
and  peeped  out  from  beneath  the  dilapidated  wagon- 


CHICQUITA.  285 


cover,  plump,  saucj,  and  childishly  content.  She 
had  acquired  the  name  of  ''Chuck,"  abbreviated 
from  Chicquita,  "little  one;"  and  amid  all  the 
changes  that  befell  her  thereafter  the  name  clung  to 
her,  regardless  of  its  inappropriateness  to  such  a 
woman. 

The  Sims  "outfit"  was  only  one  of  a  cavalcade 
of  such,  strong  enough  for  all  purposes  of  society 
and  defence.  Months  had  passed  since  the  family 
began  this  last  move.  The  long  summer  days  were 
gone,  and  the  nipping  nights  and  scanty  pasturage 
were  the  cause  of  the  premature  ending  of  the  jour- 
ney. Having  stopped  only  for  a  night,  they  had 
concluded  to  stay  until  spring,  or  some  other  time 
when  a  return  of  the  migratory  disease  should  seize 
them.  But  the  rough  house  of  cottonwood  logs 
which  Sims  made,  with  the  help  of  his  family,  was 
a  sheltered  nook  which  soon  became  home-like. 
There  was  game  in  abundance,  and  what  was  not 
immediately  consumed  the  old  man  exchanged  for 
groceries  at  the  post.  What  was  still  more  fortu- 
nate, Sims's  house  was  near  the  route  of  travel,  and 
he  found  he  could  indulge  his  love  of  gossip  as 
well  as  furnish  an  occasional  meal  to  travelers. 
When  spring  came,  the  stock  had  multiplied  and 
grown  fat.  Impelled  by  the  force  of  circumstances, 
unwonted  industry  was  the  order  at  Sims's.  A  small 
garden  was  inclosed,  and  it  came  about  that  by  June 
the  frontiersman  and  his  family  found  themselves 
prospering  beyond  anything  in  their  past  history. 
The  shanty  took  upon  itself  the  dignity  of  a  house — 
or,  as  it  was  more  fittingly  called  in  that  country,  a 


286  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 


ranch.  '^Sims's"  became  known  far  and  wide,  and 
the  proprietor  began  to  think  himself  gaining  upon 
the  world  both  in  money  and  respectability  —  two 
things  which,  in  the  present  unfortunate  condition  of 
society,  are  not  equally  distributed.  But  this  new 
era  of  prosperity  was  not  due  to  Siras's  management. 
It  grew  mainly  out  of  the  fact  that  he  had  three 
daughters.  The  unfortunate  constitution  of  the  fam- 
ily was  the  cause  of  its  unwonted  thrift.  Any  pas- 
sably well-appearing  white  woman  in  such  a  place  is 
an  enticement  not  to  be  resisted  by  the  average 
plainsman,  and  " Sims' s  gals"  were  celebrities  over 
an  extent  of  country  half  as  large  as  the  State  of 
New  York. 

But  as  time  passed,  and  the  small  herds  increased, 
the  females  became  objects  of  a  still  profounder  inter- 
est. They  were  spoken  of  as  heiresses.  N^everthe- 
less,  at  tlie  pinch,  no  amount  of  money  could  have 
married  either  of  the  two  eldest  daughters.  They 
were  tall,  gaunt,  and  angular.  They  were  as  igno- 
rant as  Eve,  and  had  so  long  performed  the  duties 
which  generally  pertain  to  masculinity  that  either 
was  a  fair  match  for  a  cinnamon  bear.  Not  so  with 
the  youngest.  The  most  courtly  and  polished  dames 
in  the  land  seldom  display  so  much  in  the  way  of 
personal  beauty  as  this  one  rose  aniong  the  thistles. 
Fair-skinned  and  blue-eyed,  strong  and  graceful,  pet- 
ted from  infancy  and  nurtured  in  comparative  ease, 
healthful  in  sentiment  as  in  body,  she  was  the  espe- 
cial attraction,  and  came  seldom  in  contact  with  the 
rough  characters  who  frequented  her  father's  house, 
and  who  were  generally  treated  by  her  with  the  high 


CHICQUITA.  287 


disdain  of  a  superior  creature.  And  slie  had  the 
mind  of  the  family.  Her  opinions  were  the  law  of 
the  house,  and  she  occupied  her  autocratic  position 
without  embarrassment,  and  ruled  without  check. 
Old  Sims  was  her  confidential  man-servant,  and  her 
mother  was  only  her  jjrivileged  associate  and  adviser. 
As  for  her  big  sisters,  they  continually  rebelled,  and 
always  obeyed,  though  her  caustic  strictures  upon 
their  hoydenish  behavior  toward  the  male  visitors  at 
the  ranch  were  unheeded.  Tliere  is  a  mysterious 
law  of  primogeniture  by  which  children  embody  the 
characteristics  of  distant  ancestors,  and  completely 
ignoring  the  nearer  family  traits  and  circumstances, 
reproduce  the  vices  and  virtues  that  are  long  forgot- 
ten and  the  lineaments  that  have  been  dust  for  a 
century.  There  must  have  been  some  rare  blood  in 
the  Sims  ancestry,  for  this  last  scion  of  a  race  which 
had.  been  subjected  to  all  the  influences  of  the  fron- 
tier— hardship  and  toil  in  the  Alleghanies,  ague  and. 
laziness  in  the  Missouri  bottoms,  and  poverty  always, 
— was  totally  unlike  her  family  and  her  surroundings. 
The  great  feet,  gaunt  limbs,  big  brown  hands,  coarse 
complexions,  and  carroty  hair,  of  her  sisters  and 
mother,  were  things  they  had  apart  from  Chicquita. 
JSTobody  knew  how  she  had  really  learned  to  read, 
pr  by  what  mysterious  process  she  had  become  pos- 
sessed of  certain  well-thumbed  books  and  estray 
newspapers.  ^o  one  ever  inquired  how  her  gar- 
ments came  to  fit  her  round  figure  with  a  neatness 
that  was  a  miracle  to  the  uninitiated,  or  why  the  coils 
lay  so  neatly  upon  her  shapely  head.  Finally  the 
pervading  force  that  directed  all  things  in  and  around 


288  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

the  ranch  came  to  be  almost  unquestioned.  A  beauty 
with  a  will  has  always  been  a  power  in  her  immedi- 
ate world ; —  a  beauty  with  brains  and  a  will  is  some- 
times the  most  complete  and  powerful  of  despots. 

The  Sims  family  had  now  been  five  years  in 
this  locality  —  an  unprecedented  stay  in  one  spot. 
Mainly  through  the  ability  of  the  youngest  child, 
now  a  mature  woman,  aided  by  the  circumstance  of 
a  fortunate  location,  they  had  acquired  cattle,  money 
and  respectability.  The  money  and  the  respecta- 
bility were  easily  cared  for,  because  Chicquita  carried 
them  both  upon  her  person.  But  the  herd  which 
was  gathered  nightly  into  the  corral  was  the  lure  of 
final  destruction.  The  charmed  circle  which  was 
drawn  around  the  post  was  an  uncertain  and  indefi- 
nite one,  that  might  be  near  or  far,  according  to 
the  occasion ;  and  the  incursions  of  Apaches  are 
governed  by  no  conventionality.  After  long  delay, 
and  frequent  smaller  thefts,  came  the  final  raid  that 
took  all. 

Old  Sims  and  Chicquita  started  to  go  to  the  post. 
The  presence  of  the  latter  was  necessary  to  keep  the 
former  from  getting  drunk  and  fiilling  into  the  hands 
of  military  minions,  to  be  incarcerated  in  the  post 
guard-house, —  as,  to  say  truth,  had  occurred  to  that 
convivial  person  before.  In  the  perfect  peacefulness 
and  serenity  of  the  early  morning,  it  seemed  impos- 
sible that  death  and  ruin  could  lurk  so  near.  As 
the  old  man  dug  his  heels  into  the  flanks  of  his 
mule,  and  Chicquita  looked  complacently  back  from 
her  seat  upon  a  pony  only  less  wilful  than  his  rider. 


CHICQUITA.  289 


the  two  little  dreamed  that  it  was  the  last  time  they 
were  ever  to  see  Sims's  ranch. 

As  they  threaded  their  way  along  the  intricacies 
of  the  trail,  Chicquita  of  course  in  the  lead,  the  old 
man  labored  diligently  to  bring  out  the  capacities  of 
his  mule,  wherever  the  path  was  sufficiently  wide  to 
permit  his  riding  beside  his  daughter.  In  truth,  he 
had  something  to  say  to  her  concerning  those  mat- 
ters in  which  girls  are  always  interested  and  about 
which  tliey  are  always  unwilling  to  talk.  A  confi- 
dential conversation  with  his  daughter  was  one  of 
Sims's  ungratified  ambitions  —  a  thing  which  in  late 
years  he  had  often  atte«ipted,  and  as  often  failed  in 
accomplishing.  She  cared  for  him,  was  kind  and 
loving  enough,  but  seemed  to  have  no  ideas  in  com- 
mon with  liim;  and  do  what  he  would  this  morning, 
he  could  not  keep  pace  with  her.  When  two  per- 
sons are  thus  together,  there  is  often  an  unconscious 
idea  of  the  thoughts  of  one  in  the  mind  of  the  other; 
and  the  girl,  for  this  or  for  some  other  reason,  kept 
constantly  and  persistently  in  the  lead.  But  tlie 
subject  was  one  that  bore  heavily  upon  the  old 
man's  mind,  and,  despairing  of  nearer  approach,  he 
presently  called  out  from  behind : 

"Chuck!" 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  came  from  the  depths  of  the 
sun-bonnet  in  front. 

"I  want  to  know  now,  honest,  which  of  them 
fellers  which  air  one  or  'tother  on  'em  alius  around 
our  house,  you're  goin'  finally  to  take.  It  looks  as 
though  Sarey,  bein'  the  oldest,  shud  hev  some  kind 
of  a  chance, —  an'  she  did  afore  you  growed  up;  but 
19 


290  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

now  it  'pears  as  though  she'd  hev  to  wait.  Kow,  as 
atween  them  fellers,  I'd  like  to  know,  an'  "  —  plain- 
tively—  '"pears  to  me  like  I've  a  right  to  know, 
which  uv  'em  you're  goin'  to  take.  I  couldn't  he 
long  a  choosin'  ef  'twas  me.  W'y,  Tom  Harris  is 
big  an'  hansum,  an'  rides  forty  mile  every  week  to 
git  a  sight  on  ye.  I  can  tell  from  that  feller's  looks 
thet  he'd  swim  the  Arkansaw  an'  light  anything 
fur  ye." 

The  face  in  the  sun-bonnet  grew  red  as  a  peony 
at  the  mention  of  the  name;  but  the  old  man  did 
not  see  that,  and  continued : 

"But  I'm  mainly  oneasy  on  account  of  there 
bein'  two  on  'em.  When  Tom  an'  the  slick-lookin' 
feller  from  Maxwell's  is  there  at  the  same  time,  they 
passes  looks  wich  means  everything  that  two  sich 
fellers  can  do  fur  to  win.  I  don't  like  'tother  feller, 
an'  neither  do  the  old  womim.  He'd  do  amost  any- 
thing, in  my  opinion ;  an'  ef  you  don't  make  choice 
atween  'em  soon,  them  fellers  '11  fight,  an'  that's 
sartin. ' ' 

The  face  which  had  been  rosy  grew  slightly  pale 
as  he  talked.  The  old  man  had  told  his  daughter 
nothing  she  did  not  already  know,  but  she  was  star- 
tled to  think  that  the  hostility  of  the  two  men  had 
been  noticed  by  others.  The  question  with  her  was 
not  which  one  she  would  "take,"  as  her  father  bad 
expressed  it,  but  how  to  rid  herself  of  the  disap- 
pointed one.  Therefore,  woman-like,  she  had  en- 
couraged neither  of  them.  To  her  acute  mind  the 
affair  had  been  a  trouble  for  weeks,  and  the  words  of 
her  father  gave  her  new  cause  for  disquiet. 


CHICQUITA.  291 


Old  Sims,  having  thus  broken  the  ice,  woiikl 
have  continued;  but  his  daughter  stopped  him  witli 
an  exclamation,  and  pointed  to  the  sand  at  their 
feet.  Sims  approached  and  peered  cautiously  at  the 
spot  indicated  by  his  companion.  There  they  v^^ere, 
not  an  hour  old,  the  ugly,  inturned  moccasin  tracks 
of  four,  eight,  a  dozen  Indians.  In  a  woman,  tim- 
idity and  wit  are  often  companions  to  each  other, 
and  Chicquita  reined  in  her  horse  with  a  determined 
air.  "I  don't  like  that,"  said  she;  "I'm  going 
back.  It  can  do  no  harm  if  the  herd  is  driven  home, 
and  I  am  going  to  see  it  done  ; "  and  she  turned  her 
horse. 

"Wy,  now,"  said  Sims,  "wat's  the  use  ?  Sich 
things  aint  oncommon;  come  on." 

"You  can  go  on  alone,  if  you  think  best,"  she 
answered. 

Before  he  could  reply,  she  was  gone;  and,  irri- 
tated by  what  he  considered  a  useless  panic,  he  dog- 
gedly continued  his  journey  toward  the  post.  The 
sight  of  an  Indian  trail  eight  miles  from  home 
seemed  a  poor  cause  for  fright,  even  in  a  woman, 
Sims  thought,  as  he  kept  on  his  way.  He  fancied  it 
was  not  that  which  had  caused  her  to  retreat ;  it  was 
to  avoid  any  further  conversation  upon  the  topic  he 
had  broached.  "  Cur'us  critters  is  women,"  he  pro- 
foundly remarked  to  himself,  as  he  jogged  on. 

Sims  spent  that  night,  unconscious  of  all  its  hor- 
rors, happy-drunk  in  the  post  guard-house. 

An  apprehension  that  she  could  hardly  under- 
stand filled  the  mind  of  the  girl  as  she  urged  her 
pony  toward  home.      Her  father's  words  added  to 


292  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

her  excitement,  and  she  thought  of  what  Tom  Har- 
ris, strong,  daring,  and  liandsome,  would  be  at  such 
a  time.  His  tall  figure,  cheery  face  and  handsome 
dress,  as  he  sometimes  sat  upon  his  horse  at  her 
father's  door,  blithe  and  fresh  after  his  ride  of  forty 
miles  for  her  sake,  came  vividly  before  her.  Even 
in  the  midst  of  her  anxiety  and  nervousness,  she  felt 
that  she  and  Tom,  united  in  purpose  and  effort, 
could  do  anything  in  this  world.  Such  were  the 
strong  woman's  thoughts  of  the  man  she  loved 
because  he  was  even  stronger  than  she. 

Two  miles  from  home,  tlie  rider's  heart  sank 
within  her  at  the  sight  of  a  column  of  smoke  on  the 
verge  of  the  familiar  horizon.  Frightened  indeed 
now,  she  urged  her  pony  to  his  utmost,  and  at  the 
crest  of  the  hill  that  overlooked  her  home,  or  the 
nook  in  which  it  had  once  stood,  tlie  truth  burst 
upon  her  that  while  her  father  had  talked  to  h^r  of 
her  lovers,  and  while  she  was  yet  speculating  upon 
the  footprints  in  the  sand,  the  torch  had  been  applied, 
and  now  herds,  house,  mother,  and  sisters  were  all 
gone. 

It  is  not  a  romance,  or  a  tale  c»f  hair  breadth 
'scapes,  or  a  narration  of  the  adventures  of  a  second- 
class  hero  in  a  dime  novel.  It  occurred  then  as  it 
does  now,  every  year  upon  the  frontier.  It  was  the 
burning  of  a  home,  and  the  murder  and  captivity  of 
its  occupants.  One  who  desires  to  tell  a  marvellous 
story  for  the  delight  of  the  groundlings  must  find  a 
more  uncommon  incident  than  this.  It  was  to  Chic- 
quita  a  moment  of  conflicting  grief  and  terror,  with 
an  overwhelming  sense  of  utter  loneliness  and  help- 


CHICQUITA.  293 


lessness.  The  beautiful  and  subtle  sense  of  woman 
may  guide,  but  it  can  neither  guard  nor  revenge. 
There  seemed  no  help,  and  the  gii-1  wished  in  her 
heart  she  had  gone  with  the  rest.  But  she  was  not 
so  entirely  alone,  for  as  she  came  nearer  she  saw  the 
tall  figure  of  Tom  Harris,  newly  alighted  from  an 
all-night  ride,  standing  beside  his  panting  horse,  so 
entirely  occupied  with  a  despairing  contemplation  of 
the  smouldering  ruins  that  he  had  not  as  yet  noticed 
her  approach.  But  when  he  quickly  turned  and  rec- 
ognized her,  his  grim  face  took  color  like  a  flash. 
In  truth,  Tom's  paleness  was  not  the  paleness  of 
fear.  Words  were  inadequate  to  express  the  bitter- 
ness with  which  he  had  cursed  the  Apaches,  as  he 
stood  looking  at  the  burning  house,  and  thinking 
with  a  pang  that  she  was  among  the  victims.  But 
when  he  turned  and  saw  her,  all  was  thenceforth  fair 
and  serene  to  Tom  Harris.  With  a  frontiersman's 
quick  perception  of  circumstances  and  situations  of 
this  kind,  he  understood,  and  asked  no  questions. 

"The  'Paches  are  clear  gone  with  everything. 
Miss,"  he  said.  "They  must  a'  done  it  in  ten  min- 
its.  Come,  light  down  now,  wont  ye  ?  The  pony's 
about  done  for,  an'  — W'y  now  Miss,  't  aint  no  use 
a  grievin'.  Ye  can't  bring  'em  back,  an'  ye  can't 
catch  the  Injuns, —  not  today.  I'll  be  even  with 
'em  if  I  live,  but  I've  known  a  many  such  things  in 
my  time,  an' —  " 

Tom  stopped,  for  he  had  a  sense  of  how  tame  and 
meaningless  his  rude  eiForts  at  comfort  were  to  the 
silent  and  horror-stricken  woman  before  him,  whose 
whole  mind  seemed  engrossed  in  a  struggle  with  the 


294  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

calamity  that  had  befallen  her.  The  well-meaning 
fellow  went  away  and  waited  some  distance  apart. 
And  while  he  stood  there  the  white  despairing  face 
grew  still  whiter,  and  she  slipped  helplessly  from 
the  pony,  and  lay  a  lifeless  heap  upon  the  ground. 
This  was  the  time  of  the  frontiersman's  despair.  In 
all  his  life's  vicissitudes,  there  had  been  none  like 
this.  He  knew  nothing  of  what  he  ought  to  do  in 
the  case  of  a  fainting  fit,  and  was  afraid  to  try.  But 
he  stripped  the  thick  blankets  from  his  horse  and 
the  pony,  and  hurriedly  spread  them  in  the  shade 
by  the  bank  side.  'Then  he  made  a  pillow  of  his 
saddle — a  thing  he  had  often  done  for  himself;  and 
with  a  redness  that  rose  to  his  temples,  and  a  thrill 
that  went  to  his  fingers'  ends,  he  lifted  the  girl,  and, 
strong  as  he  was,  fairly  staggering  under  the  bur- 
den, laid  her  upon  the  couch  he  had  made.  He  took 
his  own  soft  serape,  with  its  crimson  stripes,  and 
spread  it  for  a  covering,  and  filled  his'  canteen  and 
placed  it  near  her,  possibly  with  a  question  if  she 
would  ever  drink  from  such  a  thing  as  that.  Then 
he  sat  down  afar  ofi",  and  listlessly  picked  holes  in 
the  ground  with  his  long  knife,  and  whistled  softly, 
and  sighed  within  himself.  Tom  loved  the  woman 
who  lay  there,  and  because  he  loved  her  he  was 
afraid  she  would  die,  and  besides,  was  afraid  of  her, 
herself.  Most  men  experience  the  same  feeling  once 
in  their  lives. 

But  there  had  been  another  and  an  unseen  spec- 
tator of  all  this.  We  cannot  tell  by  what  peculiar 
conjunction  of  the  planets  things  in  this  world  fall 
out  as  they  do,  but  while  Tom  was  executing  his 


CHICQUITA.  295 


plans  of  comfort  for  tlie  girl,  "the  slick-lookin'  fel- 
ler from  Maxwell's"  was  watching  afar  off.  He 
came  no  nearer,  because  he*  did  not  at  first  under- 
stand the  situation.  The  burning  building  suggested 
Indians,  and  he  wished  no  nearer  acquaintance  with 
them,  should  they  still  be  there.  But  while  he 
looked,  he  saw  and  recognized  those  two,  and  a 
pang  of  jealousy  entered  his  heart.  Then  he  stayed 
at  a  distance  because  he  desired  to  keep  for  future 
misrepresentation  the  circumstances  of  which  he 
had  been  an  unseen  witness ;  and  finally  he  rode 
away,  baffled  and  puzzled,  and  pondering  in  his 
heart  some  scheme  that  could  harm  his  formidable 
rival. 

The  afternoon  passed  slowly  away,  and  still  the 
anxious  and  unhappy  Tom  Harris  kept  watch.  Oc- 
casionally he  crept  on  tiptoe  and  looked  at  his 
charge.  She  seemed  asleep.  Finally  he  hobbled  the 
two  horses  to  prevent  escape,  gathered  some  of  the 
vegetables  that  were  left  in  the  ruined  garden,  and 
stifled  a  strong  man's  hunger  with  young  radishes, 
green  tomatoes  and  oilless  lettuce.  He  could  afford 
to  wait,  for  he  was  engaged  in  what  he  wondered  to 
think  was,  in  spite  of  all  his  anxiety  and  perplexity, 
the  most  delightful  vigil  of  his  life.  He  did  not 
know  that  hours  ago  the  occupant  of  the  couch  had 
opened  her  eyes,  had  touched  the  crimson-barred 
serape,  had  seen  the  stalwart  sentinel  afar  off,  and 
had  lain  quiet,  exhausted  with  anxiety,  and  perhaps 
oppressed  by  the  somnolence  of  grief. 

Through  the  long  watches  of  the  night  the  sleep- 
less frontiersman  paced  back  and  forth,  listening  to 


^96  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

tbe  chatter  of  the  coyote  and  tlie  gray  wolfs  long 
drawn  howl.  He  scared  away  the  prowlers  of  the 
night,  and  listened  and  waited.  Anon  he  crept  close 
to  the  couch  of  the  sleeper,  and  listened  to  her 
breathing,  doubtful  if  she  were  not  dead,  then  crept 
away  again  with  the  happy  consciousness  that  Love 
and  he  had  all  the  wilderness  to  themselves. 

In  the  early  morning  he  heard  the  clank  of  sabres 
and  the  hum  of  voices,  and  a  troop  of  cavalry 
appeared  from  the  post, — among  them  old  Sims, 
red-eyed  and  trembling,  but  sobered  by  apprehen- 
sion and  grief.  The  man  from  Maxwell's  had  con- 
veyed the  news, —  acting  doubtless  more  from  a 
sense  of  the  delightfulness  of  the  task  of  carrying 
ill  tidings  than  from  any  sense  of  duty  or  desire  to 
be  of  service.  They  left  men  and  means  for  convey- 
ing the  girl  back  to  the  post,  and  old  Sims  returned 
with  her.  It  is  but  a  mere  unimportant  episode, 
that  she  cast  the  glamour  of  her  womanliness  over 
the  commandant's  wife,  and  sat  at  her  table  an 
invited  guest.  That  was  the  first  lady  Chicquita 
had  ever  seen  ;  and  to  her,  as  the  days  passed,  the 
story  of  the  tall  lover  and  his  night  watch,  and  all 
the  girl's  hopes  and  thoughts  about  him,  became  as 
an  open  page.  And  as  for  Tom  Harris,  the  soldiers 
had  given  him  something  to  eat,  and  he  mounted  his 
horse  and  accompanied  them  on  the  trail.  His  step 
was  as  light  and  his  heart  as  merry  as  though  he 
had  slept  in  his  bed  ;  for  as  he  looked  back  the  last 
time  the  face  he  saw  was  sad  and  white,  but  the  eyes 
were  those  of  a  woman  who  looks  after  one  she  loves 
and  hopes  to  see  again. 


CmCQUITA.  297 


Frail  of  body  now,  but  strong  of  purpose,  the 
unconquerable  spirit  of  Sims' s  daughter  employed 
itself  in  directing  the  building  of  another  house  upon 
the  spot  that  had  been  so  long  her  home.  In  a 
month  she  and  Sims  were  again  established,  in  the 
little  prairie  nook,  in  a  cabin  not  unlike  the  last,  but 
surrounded  bv  a  palisade  which  bade  defiance  to 
Indian  assault.  The  two  were  by  no  means  poor  ; 
and  while  the  old  man  drowned  the  past  in  half- 
drunken  inanity,  the  dependants  of  the  house 
did  the  work  the  two  daughters  had  once  done. 
Chicquita,  stately  and  sad,  but  softened,  seemed 
always  to  wait  and  watch  for  some  one  who  never 
came,  and  of  whom  she  never  spoke.  The  troops 
with  whom  Tom  Harris  went  away  had  long  since 
returned.  They  reported  a  day's  running  fight, 
which  was  duly  mentioned  in  general  orders,  but  in 
which  they  had  suifered  no  losses.  If  Tom  had 
returned  to  his  place,  why  did  he  not  come  again  to 
Sims's  ranch?  So  she  used  constantly  to  ask  herself. 
And  then  there  was  his  beautiful  scrape  ;  he  might 
even  come  for  that.  But  he  did  not.  The  man 
from  Maxwell's  came,  and  so  placid  was  his  recep- 
tion that  he  straightway  went  away  again.  Yet  he 
came  again.  The  pale-faced  woman  had  drooped  a 
little,  he  thought,  and  had  come  to  be  a  blue-veined 
and  frail-looking  creature,  who  seemed  to  care  even 
less  for  his  distinguished  company  than  ever  before. 
But  even  while  she  cooled  his  ardor  with  a  grand 
dignity,  she  seemed  listening  for  some  footfall,  wait- 
ing for  some  one  who  never  came. 

Poor  girl;  would  she  never  know?    Was  it  to  be 


298  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

like  a  wilderness  poem  of  somebody  waiting,  waiting, 
while  the  years  passed  and  until  death  came?  There 
was  one  woman  in  all  the  world  to  whom  she  might 
go,  and  who  knew  or  could  discover  where  he  was 
for  whom  she  had  watched  so  long,  and  who  never 
came.  Old  Sims  one  day  carried  this  tall  frail 
daughter  of  his  to  the  post.  She  was  willing  to  talk 
with  him  now,  only  she  said,  whenever  he  came  too 
near  the  forbidden  subject,  "You  cannot  under- 
stand, papa,"  and  the  old  man  would  again  relapse 
into  a  sad  silence.  Pie  could  not  understand  his 
daughter  either.  She  was  of  an  alien  kind  to  him 
forever. 

The  commandant's  wife  kissed  Chicquita,  and 
looked  unutterable  things.  It  was  come  at  last, — 
the  task  she  dreaded,  the  tale  she  hoped  to  lighten 
as  best  she  might.  But  the  sad  face  touched  her 
heart,  and  she  wept,  and  weeping  told  it  all.  I  do  nc^t 
know  what  passed  between  the  worldly  lady  and  her 
protegee^  as  the  two  sat  together  holding  each  other's 
hands,  the  one  pale  and  cold,  the  other  crying  for 
sympathy  and  pity,  her  dainty  shoulder  offering  a 
resting-place  for  a  head  whose  bright  coils  shone  in 
contrast  to  the  wanness  of  her  cheek.  "My  hus- 
band has  always  known,"  she  said,  "but  he  hoped 
you  might  —  forget.  We  kept  it  from  you,  hoping 
that  time  would  cure  all.  He  was  the  only  man  to 
fall.  He  was  foremost,  and  the  soldiers  thought  he 
only  went  for  amusement,  and  because  he  hated 
Indians.  They  buried  him  where  he  fell  —  they 
could  not  do  otherwise ;  and  I  am  sorry  we  did  not 
tell  you  long  ago.      But  we  did  not  understand — 


CHICQUITA.  299 


did  not  understand  that  you  were  so  good  and  brave 
as  you  are.  You  do  not  know  how  much  I  wish  he 
had  never  gone.  He  would  have  come  back  if  he 
liad  lived,  and  he  was  very  brave.  We  will  all  do 
anything  for  you  that  we  can.  If  you  will  only  stay 
with  me  for  a  while,  and  be  petted  and  nursed,  I 
sliould  so  like  to  have  you.  It  is  the  saddest  thing 
I  liave  ever  known,  and  you, —  you  are  not  like  the 
rest." 

Tom  was  dead.  She  must  have  known  it  before, 
she  changed  so  slightly  at  tlie  tidings.  Perhaps  she 
had  only  hoped  against  hope,  having  long  ago  known 
that  the  man  whose  stature  she  had  measured  as  she 
lay  through  that  summer  night  upon  the  couch  he 
had  made  for  her  would  have  returned  had  he  been 
alive.  The  sleeplessness  of  courage  and  honor  was 
not  for  naught.  It  was  the  one  memory  of  which 
she  was  proud,  the  one  keepsake  of  him  who  would 
never  come  back.  The  love  of  a  life  in  which  it  was 
the  only  glimpse  of  something  brighter  and  happier 
was  as  much  a  reality  as  though  it  had  been  plighted 
a  thousand  times.  Perhaps  the  ancestral  courage 
and  hope  which  had  come  to  her  through  such 
degenerate  veins  helped  her  to  die. 

She  crept  to  the  bedside,  whose  topmost  cover 
was  a  crimson-barred  serape ;  but  she  never  left  it 
again.  The  bright  strong  face  that  had  looked  back 
at  her  in  the  saddle-leap  a  few  weeks  ago,  was  still 
hers.  What  wonder  that,  since  he  could  not  come 
to  her, — to  the  house  that,  with  a  strong  woman's 
fancy  she  had  made  for  him  to  protect  her  in, —  she 
should  go  to  him  ?    The  sublimities  of  life  are  ever 


300  FRONTIER  AR3IY  SKETCHES. 

incomplete ;  the  best  hopes  are  hopes  only.  Her 
life  must  have  a  memory  compared  to  which  the 
realities  of  most  are  but  tame. 

It  is  but  a  camp-fire  story,  and  time  was  when 
every  soldier  at  the  now  abandoned  post,  whose  bro- 
ken walls  impress  the  traveller  with  a  new  aspect  of 
desolation  as  he  passes  by,  knew  the  place  of  "Chic- 
quita's  Grave."  But  the  years  have  passed,  and 
now  only  the  legend  remains  :  — the  legend  and  the 
lonesome  mound,  that  serve  at  least  to  recall  the 
almost  forgotten  truth  tliat  there  is  no  land  so  far 
and  silent  that  it  has  not  its  loves  and  its  graves. 


XYII. 
AEMY  MULES. 

a^HERE  is  an  important  personage  in  military 
-  circles  who  seems  not  yet  to  have  found  a  biog- 
rapher. He  has  been  used  as  a  comparative,  has 
been  maligned  by  having  a  numerous  class  likened 
to  him,  and  honored  in  the  use  of  a  thousand  prov- 
erbs, maxims,  and  descriptive  epithets.  Yet  he 
occupies  the  unusual  position  of  one  who  cannot  be 
dispensed  with.  The  army  mule  has  long  since 
become  a  by-word,  and  his  reputed  "cheek"  an 
American  synonym.  His  service  with  the  military 
is  professional,  and  between  him  and  his  drivers 
there  exists  a  certain  well-understood  sympathy  and 
kinship.  Mule-driving  is  a  passion  with  a  certain 
class,  and  the  horse  takes  a  place  of  comparative 
insignificance,  as  a  creature  fit  only  for  the  drawing 
of  caissons  and  the  carrying  of  cavalrymen.  The 
commissary  and  quartermaster's  departments,  with- 
out which  it  would  be  impossible  to  live,  are  in 
charge  of  the  mule.  The  government  of  the  Repub- 
lic is  the  largest  mule  owner  in  the  world.  The  two 
matters  of  greatest  importance  in  military  afi^airs 
are,  first,  the  health  and  efiiciency  of  the  men  ;  and 
second,  the  condition  of  the  mules. 

Nevertheless,  he  is  an  outrage   upon   nature,  a 
monstrosity,  a  combination  of  the  donkey  and  the 

301 


302    .  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

horse,  with  the  qualities  of  neither  and  excelling 
both.  He  is  the  puzzle  of  the  brutes,  and  stands 
alone  in  his  nature  and  qualities,  unapproachable  in 
devilment,  fathomless  in  cunning,  born  old  in  crime, 
of  disreputable  paternity  and  incapable  of  posterity, 
stolid,  imperturbable,  with  no  love  for  anything  but 
the  perpetration  of  tricks,  no  dexterity  in  aught  save 
the  flinging  of  his  heels,  no  desire  for  anything  but 
rations  —  stolen  if  possible  and  by  preference  —  and 
no  affection  at  all.     Such  is  the  mule. 

Yet  he  is  an  animal  who  deserves  a  very  differ- 
ent biography  from  any  that  so  far  any  one  has 
found  it  in  his  heart  to  write  of  him.  There  are 
men  whom  all  mules  hate,  probably  because  of  the 
existence  of  some  rivalry  betw^een  the  two;  who  are 
ever  the  victims  of  one  of  those  lightning  blows 
which  are  wonders  of  dexterity  and  force,  considered 
as  coming  from  so  clumsy  a  limb.  These  are  they 
who  have  given  our  long-eared  friend  his  reputation. 
The  mule  is  an  animal  of  character, — bad  it  may  be, 
but  still  a  defined  though  not  a  very  well  understood 
character.  Many  men  have  not  that  much  to  recom- 
mend them. 

Everybody  knows  this  anomaly  in  animalism,  as 
they  fancy  very  well  indeed,  unless  it  should  be 
some  far  down-eastern  young  person,  who  may  im- 
agine him  to  be  only  a  variety  of  the  genus  asinus. 
There  was  a  returned  soldier  once  who  was  accus- 
tomed to  get  himself  pitied  by  enumerating  among 
his  hardships  the  item  that  he  had  been  more  than 
once  obliged  to  subsist  upon  mule's  milk.  But,  at 
least,  we  all  know  him  by  sight  in  the  street.     We 


AEilfY  3IULES.  303 


have  marked  the  queer,  knowing,  leery,  sidelong 
glance  of  liis  eye  at  us  as  we  passed  by.  We  have 
seen  the  furtive  agility  with  which  the  wisp  of  hay 
is  stolen  from  the  passing  wagon,  and  the  entire 
stolidity  with  which  he  stands  asleep  in  the  sun. 
The  yearling  mule  is  undoubtedly  the  incarnation 
and  sum-total  of  quadrupedal  deviltry.  He  is  the 
originator  of  a  distinct  and  uninterrupted  series  of 
grotesque  diabolisms.  With  his  scant  and  ungrace- 
ful tail  tangled  with  whole  acres  of  heterogeneous 
burs,  and  the  long  and  faded  hair  upon  his  belly 
waving  in  the  breeze,  his  fuzzy  mane,  scarce  grown 
to  any  likeness  of  hair,  sits  upon  him  with  the  same 
air  as  do  the  whiskers  of  a  shaveling  country  youth. 
He  has  in  his  movements  a  peculiar  jog-trot,  which 
in  itself  suggests  careless  and  irredeemable  depravity. 
It  is  the  gait  of  one  who  steadily  goes  to  the  bad, 
but  never  quite  gets  there.  At  that  age,  the  eyes 
are  foxy  and  shrewd,  and  lack  the  look  of  deep  sad- 
ness so  often  seen  in  those  of  his  aged  relative  of  the 
dray  and  jobbing-wagon.  The  little  black  hoofs  are 
hard  and  polished,  and,  like  those  of  the  goat  and 
chamois,  especially  fitted  for  clinging  in  slippery 
places.  And  those  ears; — in  all  his  kind  they 
have  ever  refused  to  be  hidden.  Even  as  he  stands 
thinking,  against  the  sunny  side  of  the  barn,  they 
are  ever  moving,  —  now  backward,  now  forward,  and 
in  opposite  ways.  You  can  tell  by  these  tokens 
almost  the  moment  when  an  unusually  malevolent 
idea  is  born  within  him.  When  they  are  laid  fairly 
along  his  neck,  his  countenance  is  a  demonstration 
of  the  truth  of  physiognomy.      Mischief  has  then 


304  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

its  incarnation.  The  clumsy  limbs  astonish  you 
with  sudden  limberness,  and  fly  high  in  the  air  with 
a  rapidity  that  defies  vision.  Old,  stiff,  worn-out, 
the  faculty  of  acrobatic  kicking  never  leaves  him, 
whatever  else  may  befall  his  numb  faculties. 

Men  whose  labors  in  this  life  have  taken  the 
strange  direction  of  mule-raising,  are  supposed  to 
lead  short  lives  and  troublous  ones.  From  infancy 
to  age,  there  is  no  fence  that  will  hold,  no  system 
that  will  train  the  creature  into  staid  and  respecta- 
ble barn-yard  habits.  Place  twenty  of  these  young- 
sters at  a  long  trough,  feed  them  liberally  with  oats, 
and  it  will  be  more  from  luck  than  prudence  if  he 
whose  duty  it  is  to  give  them  provender  succeeds  in 
getting  out  from  among  the  shaggy  conclave  with 
less  than  twenty  out  of  the  forty  hoofs  having  been 
flung  in  his  face.  Ere  you  can  turn  to  look,  the 
creature  has  meekly  reversed  his  ears,  and  is  indus- 
triously champing  his  provender,  seeming  mildly  to 
wonder  how  you  could  ever  have  suspected  A^m. 

The  very  existence  of  the  mule  argues  against  the 
sagacity  of  his  ancestor,  the  horse.  Is  there  any 
more  pitiful  spectacle  than  a  stalwart  mare,  whose 
ears  are  clean-cut  and  sharp,  and  whose  veins  stand 
out  over  her  glossy  skin,  looking  affectionately  over 
her  shoulder  at  the  little  dun-colored,  fuzzy,  impish 
monstrosity  who  tugs  at  her  udders  ?  One  would 
think  she  would  run  away  and  abandon  it  to  starve, 
—  if,  indeed,  a  young  mule  can  be  starved;  or  make 
it  convenient  to  lie  down  upon  it.  But  she  never 
does,  and  it  goes  far  to  show. how  poor  judges  moth- 
ers are  of  their  own  children. 


ARMY  3IULES.  305 


It  has  long  been  known  that  there  is  only  one 
way  in  which  a  mule  can  be  punished,  and,  strange 
to  say,  that  is  by  imposing  a  strain  upon  his  sensi- 
bilities. A  mule  by  himself  is  the  wretchedest  of 
beasts.  He  may  not  be  so  very  particular  about  its 
quality,  but  he  must  have  company;  companions  to 
tease  and  torment,  to  bite  and  kick  and  steal  from, 
and  over  w^hose  backs  he  can  rest  his  intelligent 
head  to  stare  at  the  passers-by.  Place  him  in  a 
field  over  whose  fence  he  cannot  jump,  and  which 
he  cannot  break,— I  must  be  pardoned  if  I  verge 
upon  romance  in  ^this  supposition, —  and  he  will 
betake  himself  to  the  staid  company  of  the  unfrisky 
cows,  or  even  to  the  pigs  who  are  there  with  him, 
and  proceed  to  bite  their  backs,  and  otherwise  to 
interfere  with  their  accustomed  habits  and  bodily 
comfort.  But  he  never  forgets  his  relationship  to  his 
more  respectable  uncles  and  cousins  once  removed. 
Pie  insists  upon  considering  the  horse  his  brother, 
and,  as  is  well  known,  can  only  be  coaxed  along  the 
high-way  to  market  in  peace  by  being  enticed  by  an 
elderly  gray  mare,  on  whose  neck  there  is  a  bell, 
and  whom  he  will  follow  to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  disdains  his  poor  relations, 
the  asses,  and  other  mules,  maintaining  toward  them 
a  demeanor  which  no  more  becomes  him  than  it 
does  some  of  his  imitators  in  a  higher  plane  of 
existence.  He  will  have  naught  to  do  with  the 
thistle-eating  fraternity,  and  will  scarce  recognize 
them  even  while  undergoing  his  punishment  of  soli- 
tary confinement. 

But  all  this  superficial,  and  manifestly  only  one 
20 


306  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

side  of  the  case.  Since  it  is  possible  for  some  reader 
to  say  that  this  chapter  is  a  kind  of  autobiography, 
and  born  of  introspection,  I  will  hasten  to  relate  the 
other  side  of  the  story, — part  of  which  is  that  this 
curious  brute  is  probably  the  most  useful  of  the 
dumb  toilers  whom  man  holds  in  perpetual  slavery. 
His  cool  philosophy  never  forsakes  him,  in  labors 
that  no  other  animal  has  been  found  capable  of  per- 
forming. It  is  on  tlie  plains,  and  in  the  corrals  of 
the  far  Southwest,  that  the  mule  and  his  master 
fully  understand  each  other.  Tliese  desolate  lands, 
with  their  long  and  waterless  roads,  are  the  fields  of 
his  usefulness.  The  mule  is  there  a  popular  and 
aristocratic  beast.  The  weather-battered  wagon- 
master  of  a  government  train  knows  intimately 
every  animal  of  the  two  or  three  hundred  of  his 
herd.  The  teamster  has  a  pet  or  characteristic  name 
for  each  sleek  creature  of  his  team  of  six.  He  is 
with  them  day  and  night,  and  enjoys  their  society, 
and  will  steal  corn  for  them  much  sooner  than  he 
would  steal  it  for  himself.  He  will  empty  his  care- 
fully-saved keg,  and  give  each  of  his  companions  a 
hatful  of  water.  A  companionship  springs  up  be- 
tween the  man  and  his  mules  that  is  little  less  than 
touching.  They  know  him  from  afar,  and  he  leads 
them  anywhere,  merely  holding  them  by  the  chin. 

Under  such  circumstances,  the  mule  develops 
wonderfully.  He  is  sedate,  patient,  tractable,  hand- 
some, proud  of  his  bells  and  his  occupation,  alto- 
gether understanding  his  business  better  than  any 
draught  animal  has  done  since  the  Conestoga  days. 
The  steady,  daily,  methodical  work  suits  him.     He 


AEiWY  3WLES.  307 


grows  actually  fat  upon  it ;  and  as  the  years  pass, 
each  mule  gains  for  himself  a  reputation  among  the 
knowing  ones.  I  knew  a  stall  in  that  remote  region 
where  for  fourteen  years  stood  a  sleek  and  dignified 
mule  known  through  all  the  country  as  "Mole." 
The  old  girl  had  carried  the  successive  commanders 
of  the  little  i)ost  thousands  of  miles  in  the  number- 
less scouting  expeditions  that  had  gone  out  thence. 
She  had  long  been  one  of  the  personages  of  the 
place,  and  no  one  doubted  that  she  knew  more  than 
the  common  run  of  soldiers,  and  that  if  she  could 
have  talked  her  opinions  would  have  been  valuable. 
I  remember  another,  an  ugly  little  tangle-maned 
creature  who  wagged  his  long  ears  to  a  grotesque 
name  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  mention.  Too  small 
for  ordinary  packing  purposes,  his  business  from 
time  immemorial  had  been  to  carry  the  officer's 
mess.  His  ugly  head  had  known  no  bridle  for 
years.  He  was  a  gamin  of  his  tribe.  Kettles  and 
pots  and  long-handled  pans  were  hung  and  tied  to 
every  available  projection  upon  his  scrawny  person. 
Countless  efforts  had  been  made  to  make  him  go 
hindermost  of  the  long  train  of  his  brethren,  where, 
according  to  rule,  he  really  belonged.  Suddenly, 
always  in  some  particularly  narrow  place,  he  would 
perform  that  manoeuvre  known  as  a  ^'' pasear^ 
Ducking  his  head,  and  whisking  his  scurvy  tail,  he 
would  dash  through  the  line  from  rear  to  front,  and 
take  his  place,  with  all  his  unsightly  appendages, 
beside  the  commandant,  and  in  the  very  place  of 
honor.  A  thrashing  and  a  sending  to  the  rear  only 
enabled  him  to  perform  this  pleasing  feat  the  oftener. 


308  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

Unconscious  of  personal  ugliness,  lie  considered  him- 
self the  chief  ornament  to  head-quarters.  He  was 
always  there.  He  investigated  the  cookery,  and 
looked  after  the  bedding,  and  the  commandant  was 
usually  awakened  early  in  the  morning  by. his  fum- 
bling in  an  investigatory  sort  of  way  in  his  hair. 
The  last  exploit  of  his  which  I  recollect  was  tliat  of 
walking  in  between  the  officer  and  the  men  one 
morning  at  guard-mount,  two  days  after  having  been 
stolen  by  the  Comanches;  —  a  feat  never  before  per- 
formed by  man  or  mule. 

It  is  long  since  conceded  by  those  who  know  him 
that  the  army  mule  is  the  philosopher  of  the  animal 
kingdom.  Heretofore  the  owl  and  the  raven  'have 
shared  that  reputation,  to  the. unfair  exclusion  of  all 
others.  It  is  time  that  mere  stupidity  should  be 
called  by  its  proper  name.  Tlie  lack  of  generous 
spirit  which  is  his  notorious  fault  is  the  result  of  a 
shrewd  calculation  as  to  the  amount  of  work  he 
ought  to  be  required  to  do.  A  very  tired  mule  will 
stop  in  the  road,  and  no  amount  of  persuasion  or 
force  will  induce  him  to  go  further.  But  his  fibres 
are  tough,  and  his  endurance  is  wonderful,  and  he 
performs  tasks  of  which  no  other  animal  in  the  service 
of  man  is  capable.  Mnety  miles,  a  long  day  and 
night,  he  can  go  without  water.  Past  midnight  you 
will  see  each  long-eared  philosopher  at  his  steady 
jog-trot,  wagging  his  ears  backward  and  forward,  and 
pulling  upon  his  bits.  He  knows  the  nature  of  the 
emergency  as  well  as  his  driver  does.  Tlie  nostrils 
are  dilated,  the  eyes  have  a  distressed  look,  and  the 
gaunt  flanks  throb.     But  there  is  no  dragging,  no 


ABMY  MULES.  309 


complaint.  On  and  on  in  tlie  gloom  and  silence  for 
you  do  not  know  or  care  liow  long,  and  suddenly  the 
whole  line  sets  up  that  peculiar  cry  which  is  not  the 
voice  of  the  horse,  or  of  the  ass,  neither  a  mixture  of 
the  two.  You  may  know  the  animal  for  years  in 
civilization,  and  not  hear  it.  It  means  the  scent  of 
water,  perhaps  yet  miles  away;  and  soon  you  can 
see  upon  the  horizon  the  stunted  trees  which  stand 
sparsely  upon  the  banks  of  the  stream  which  marks 
the  end  of  tlie  desert. 

The  carrying  capacity  of  this  creature  is  undoubt- 
edly inherited  from  the  disreputable  side  of  his  fiim- 
ily,  whose  flabby  sides,  thin  spines,  and  cattish 
hams,  indicate  anything  but  a  remarkable  ability  to 
plod  over  hill  and  dale  bearing  burdens  that  weigh 
half  as  much  as  themselves.  In  the  usual  military 
operations  of  the  border,  wagons  are  never  used. 
There  are  no  roads,  but  in  their  stead  steep  moun- 
tain-sides, narrow  passes,  rocks,  sand,  and  never  so 
much  as  a  path.  It  is  mostly  a  country  absolutely 
and  irredeemably  desolate  and  barren,  and  yet  all 
who  traverse  it  must  eat.  If  there  were  game  in 
any  quantity,  it  could  not  be  killed,  for  the  noise  of 
firearms  would  render  useless  all  the  hard  toil  of  a 
scouting  party. 

The  train  that  files  out  of  a  frontier  post  upon 
one  of  these  scouting  expeditions  is  a  very  grotesque 
procession,  the  whole  idea  of  which  is  born  of  neces- 
sity in  a  mountain  country,  and  which  is  totally 
uidike  anything  ever  done  during  the  great  struggle 
that  was  our  school  of  war.  Accompanying  a  lim- 
ited number  of  men,  is  a  large  number  of  mules, 


310  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

each  one  laden  with  liis  share  of  the  absolute  neces- 
sities of  life ;  bread  and  bacon,  coffee  and  cartridges. 
There  is  a  master  of  the  mules,  whose  services  are 
as  indispensable  as  those  of  the  commanding  officer. 
Each  solemn  beast,  impressed  with  the  gravity  of  his 
undertaking,  follows  in  the  footsteps  of  the  brother 
who  liappens  to  be  ahead  of  him,  his  huge  load 
swaying  from  side  to  side,  his  long  ears  wagging, 
and  his  countenance  taking  day  by  day  a  deeper 
solemnity  of  expression.  He  does  not  stumble  or 
wander,  and  wastes  no  energy  in  any  kind  of  devia- 
tions ;  but  he  often  lies  down  and  dies  with  his  load 
upon  his  back.  His  burden  is  distributed,  his  sad- 
dle thrown  away,  and  he  is  left  where  he  falls. 

A  mule's  luxury  is  to  roll  —  not  one-sidedly  and 
lazily,  but  in  a  regular  tumble,  accompanied  by 
snorts,  groans,  and  grunts.  Every  time  his  pack  is 
removed,  he  is  sure  to  engage  in  a  general  shaking 
up  of  his  whole  corporal  system.  The  whole  hun- 
dred or  two  will  be  at  it  at  once.  It  comes  before 
eating,  drinking,  or  any  other  diversion.  But  the 
next  thing  is  grass,  if  there  be  any,  and  if  not,  the 
nearest  approach  to  it.  Then,  in  the  early  morning, 
while  yet  the  stars  are  shining,  comes  the  reloading 
and  the  starting  off  again.  Tired,  lame,  lean,  galled, 
as  he  may  be,  he  seldom  shows  any  sign  of  resent- 
ment at  the  untimely  renewal  of  his  toil  —  a  toil  that 
is  thankless  and  cruel,  that  knows  no  respite,  and 
that  is  ended  only  by  death. 

There  can  scarcely  be  a  recollection  of  a  western 
camp-fire  around  which  the  mule  is  not  a  figure  — 
sometimes,  indeed,  too  much  of  one.     Dapper  Cap- 


ARMY  MULES.  311 


tain  Jinks  is  not  then  himself — or,  rather,  he  is  his 
true  self.  It  is  the  scantiest  and  most  cheerless  of 
little  fires  that  is  kindled  to  cook  his  bacon  and  boil 
his  coffee.  His  pillow  is  a  saddle  or  nothing,  his 
mattress  an  old  blue  overcoat,  and  his  covering  a 
gray  blanket.  His  clothes  are  those  of  a  private, 
and  his  hat  is  the  broad-brimmed  slouch  that  is 
pulled  low  over  his  brows  by  day,  worn  all  night, 
and  used  as  a  universal  duster,  castigator  of  insects, 
fire-persuader,  and  general  vade  mecum.  Sometimes 
there  is  that  variety  of  canopy  known  as  a  "  dog- 
tent,"  hoisted  upon  improvised  sticks  to  keep  off  the 
wind,  or  crawled  under  by  Jinks  in  case  of  frost.  It 
is,  however,  usually  eaten  by  the  mules  at  the 
beginning  of  the  campaign,  and  philosophically  done 
without  for  the  remainder. 

Here,  while  the  always-thorny  ground  is  covered 
with  recumbent  figures  pell-mell  around  him,  Jinks 
props  his  back  against  a  rock,  gazes  thoughtfully 
into  the  coals,  smokes,  amuses  himself  with  far-away 
thoughts,  and  tells  stories.  If  one  were  by  himself 
at  a  little  distance,  he  would  be  struck  by  the 
strange  incongruity  of  the  hilarity  that  occasionally 
reaches  his  ears.  Ragged  sentinels  stand  sleepily 
upon  the  outskirts,  not  so  much  as  vedettes  against 
the  enemy  as  guardians  of  the  mules.  JSTevertheless, 
it  would  take  but  little  to  awake  this  militarj^  repose 
into  great  activity  and  surprising  order.  Where  all 
was  apparent  confusion  the  evening  before,  at  sun- 
rise there  is  not  a  vestige  left.  They  were  here ; 
they  are  gone.  The  long  train  has  wound  itself 
av/ay  among  voiceless  hills,  intent  upon  some  dim 


312  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

trail,  or  has  turned  suddenly  into  some  unmapped 
pass,  and  has  left  nothing  behind  but  some  little 
heaps  of  gray  ashes. 

Sometimes,  but  in  truth  not  often,  the  mountain 
Apache  is  actually  traced  to  his  hiding-place.  He 
has  been  stalked  for  three  weeks,  and  has  been 
patiently  crept  upon  while  he  and  his  belongings 
were  lying  safe  in  some  inaccessible  nook  of  the 
mountains.  It  is  his  hiding-place  and  storehouse 
after  his  last  raid,  an  exploit  but  for  which  the  mili- 
tary would  have  let  him  alone.  He  has  had  every 
advantage  over  his  enemies.  He  knows  the  country 
as  a  citizen  knows  the  streets  of  his  town.  He  has 
made  a  flying  raid  upon  the  settlements,  killed, 
burned,  and.  carried  captive.  The  same  band  has 
been  in  a  dozen  localities,  and  has  gone  here  and 
there,  stealing,  killing,  and  waylaying,  for  the  mere 
love  of  it.  But  somebody  has  gotten  upon  his  trail, 
and  the  mules  have  been  packed.  It  sometimes 
ends  with  the  complete  destruction  of  his  rancherea, 
the  destruction  of  all  his  winter's  provender,  the 
loss  of  some  members  of  his  family,  and  the  great 
reduction  of  his  fighting  force. 

It  results,  therefore,  that  while  the  above  may 
seem  a  digression  from  the  important  subject  under 
consideration,  the  army  mule,  with  all  his  "cheek," 
is  still  the  chief  factor  in  all  military  operations  on 
the  frontier.  His  corral  is  the  most  interesting  and 
important  appurtenance  of  a  military  post,  and  his 
care  is  a  thing  of  solicitude  on  the  part  of  all  con- 
cerned in  the  efficiency  of  the  service.  He  was 
adopted  in  the  place  of  the  horse  in  the  beginning, 
because  he  had  a  character,  and  from  it  he  has  never 


ahmy  mules,  313 


been  known  to  diverge.  It  is  not  asserted  that  anyone 
quite  understands  liiin,  or  after  many  years  of  asso- 
ciation with  him  is  able  to  tell  precisely  what  he 
might  not  take  it  into  his  long  head  to  do.  But  he 
is  faithful  to  his  tyrant  to  the  end  and  death.  He 
will  not  leave  the  camp-fire  or  the  wagon,  though 
shelterless  and  unfed.  Once  away  from  his  stall, 
and  he  persistently  stays  by  his  master,  carrying 
him  all  day  and  standing  beside  his  bed  all  night, 
looking  his  hunger  with  all  the  eloquence  of  his 
doleful  face,  and  crying  his  peculiar  note  of  distress 
at  intervals  frequent  enough  to  accomplish  his  object 
of  keeping  his  owner  awake  and  sorry.  His  rela- 
tive, the  horse,  has  for  ages  been  the  especial  pet  of 
man,  and  has  deserved  to  be.  Yet  there  was  never 
a  plebeian  mule,  doomed  from  colthood  to  unremit- 
ting toil,  who  was  not  infinitely  his  superior  in  that 
peculiar  knowledge  that  has  never  been  classified, 
that  "sense"  that  is  neither  memory  nor  mind, 
which  is  inadequately  described  by  the  term  sagaci- 
ty, which  is  not  instinct,  and  which  is  a  marked 
characteristic  in  all  the  long-eared  and  thistle-eating 
fraternity.  He  is  docile  and  devilish,  tricky  and 
faithful,  never  requires  to  be  broken  and  never  is 
broken,  is  always  in  difficulty  and  is  never  injured, 
is  reckless  of  any  and  all  consequences  and  -  yet 
exceedingly  cautious.  He  is  awkward  and  clumsy 
in  gait  and  appearance,  and  slow  of  foot,  yet  comes 
out  fresh  and  vigorous  at  the  end  of  journeys  that 
wear  his  rider  to  illness  and  lameness.  He  is,  taken 
all  in  all,  a  study  in  natural  history  that  will  never 
have  a  definite  conclusion,  a  creature  that  is  a 
sphinx,  and  yet  a  mule. 


XYIII. 
A  LOI^ESOME  CHRISTIAK 

GRIMES  was  his  name — ''Old  Grimes"  he  was 
called  by  the  irreverent  world  that  knew  him 
well,  and  which  doubtless  he  knew  too  in  return,  as 
a  man  knows  something  that  has  not  been  pleasant 
to  him,  and  the  pain  and  wickedness  and  hollowness 
of  which  have  been  forced  upon  him  by  a  grim  ex- 
perience. 

Grimes's  name  was  the  only  thing  about  him  that 
offered  any  poetic  suggestion,  and  was  not  lightly 
passed  or  forgotten  by  those  who  saw  him  every  day. 
The  legend  of  that  old  man  whose  dirge  has  been 
sung  these  sixty  years — whose  coat  was  old,  and 
gray,  and  buttoned  down  before,  in  every  version  of 
that  irreverent  elegy  —  is  the  common  inheritance 
of  all  the  English-speaking  race,  wherever  they  wan- 
der. The  ragged  urchins  twanged  it  endlessly  in  his 
ears  from  behind  the  corners  of  shanties  whenever 
his  bent  figure  came  in  sight.  Even  tlie  grown-up 
Texans,  who  lounged,  gambled,  and  traded  horses 
at  the  sutler's  store,  repeated  it  to  him  as  a  standing 
joke  that  could  not  be  worn  out.  But  he  paid  no 
attention  or  diverted  the  topic  when  he  could,  and 
hobbled  away  slowly,  ever  muttering  to  himself 
something  that  nobody  heard  or  heeded.  Had 
Grimes  been  a  common  man,  he  would  have  died  of 

214 


A  LONESOME  CHRISTIAN.  815 

the  torture  of  iteration,  or  have  made  shift,  some 
fateful  day,  to  have  killed  some  one  of  his  torment- 
ors. It  would  have  been  quite  to  his  credit,  in  the 
country  in  which  he  lived,  to  have  done  the  latter. 
But  he  did  neither.  In  truth,  Grimes  was  not  an 
ordinary  person. 

The  residence  of  this  song-tormented  old  person 
was  a  rough  and  canvas-covered  shanty,  situated  by 
a  rambling  path  in  the  midst  of  a  congregation  of 
such,  some  better,  some  worse.  The  place  was 
known  by  the  denizens  of  the  neighboring  post  as 
"Slabtown."  The  open  and  unfinished  quadrangle, 
and  the  square  stone  houses  that  had  all  a  homeless 
and  dreary  look,  were  some  half-mile  away.  Fort 
Concho  was  confessedly  a  liard  place,  all  of  it.  Slab- 
town  was  its  foster-child,  filled  with  stranded  emi- 
grants, cattle-herders,  gamblers,  and  men  who  had 
no  occupation.  Out  toward  the  bleak  northwest, 
Llano  Estacado  stretched  its  endless  leagues  of  rock 
and  cactus  —  the  wildest  land  beneath  the  flag, 
governed  and  owned  by  the  Comanche,  and  utterly 
useless  and  tenantless  for  all  time,  save  for  that 
Saxon  savage  almost  as  wild  as  he. 

But  Slabtown,  straggling  up  from  the  little  river's 
side,  sat  with  its  shanties  under  tlie  lee  of  tlie  post, 
fully  confiding  in  its  military  neighbor.  Here  were 
privileged  to  come  and  remain  through  the  windy 
Texas  winter,  all  men,  with  a  due  proportion  of 
women,  whose  tastes  or  whose  occupations  led  them 
to  the  far  verge  of  civilization.  Thither  came  the 
cattle-man,  and  watched  his  wikl  herds  on  the  neigh- 
boring hills,  until  returning  greenness  warned  him 


316  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

off  upon  the  California  trail.  Thither  returned  tlie 
man  who  liad  accomplished  tlie  wonderful  journey, 
laden  with  fortunate  gold.  Bearded,  broad-brimmed, 
and  belted,  liere  lounged  a  small  army  of  guides  and 
trailers,  playing  shrewd  games  at  cards,  drinking 
San  Antonio  whiskey,  and  at  internals  shooting  at 
each  other.  The  gaunt  and  long-footed  Texas  girl, 
chalky,  yellow-haired,  and  awkward,  minced  from 
cabin  to  cabin  with  neighborly  gossip,  and  did  her 
calico-and-green-ribbon  shopping  at  the  pine  coun- 
ters of  the  trader's  stores.  There  were  urchins 
many,  coatless  and  shoeless  from  January  to  Decem- 
ber, who  were  as  the  calves  of  this  corral  of  human- 
ity. Here,  too,  was  that  pink  of  the  border,  the 
dashing  stage- driver,  who,  for  forty  dollars  per 
month,  every  day  ran  the  gauntlet  through  sixty 
miles  of  Indian-haunted  desolation,  and  who,  at  the 
end  of  his  "trick,"  rewarded  himself  with  two  days 
of  dalliance  with  the  belles  of  Slabtown,  to  whom, 
indeed,  he  was  as  the  apple  of  their  pale  eyes. 

And  among  these  people  lived  Father  Grimes, 
and  these  were  they  who  sang  the  ancient  ditty  to 
him  as  he  passed  by.  What  his  occupation  was, 
nobody  precisely  knew  or  cared;  but  they  "  'lowed  " 
he  was  "well-heeled,"  and  "had  a  little  tucked 
away  somewhere."  In  the  particular  condition  of 
-  society  —  or,  rather,  want  of  all  society  —  that  envi- 
roned him,  the  inquiry  into  Grimes's  business  would 
hardly  have  gone  so  far  as  that,  had  it  not  been  that 
his  daughter  occupied  a  conspicuous  position  as  the 
prettiest  girl  at  Concho,  and  was  famous  alike  for 
the  brilliancy  of  her  cheeks  and  her  dresses.     She 


A  LONESOME  CHRISTIAN.  317 

and  Father  Grimes  lived  alone,  and  it  was  scarcely 
tliouglit  of  that  at  some  former  period  a  mother  had 
been  necessary  in  the  usual  course  of  nature.  "  Old 
Grimes  and  his  gal "  filled  all  the  Grimes  horizon, 
and  there  was  no  idea  or  feeling  connected  with 
them  that  had  any  further  association. 

It  would  be  entirely  in  accordance  with  good  taste 
if  it  were  possible  now  to  describe  a  dutiful  daughter, 
entirely  devoted  to  her  aged  father,  and  resenting  the 
verbal  indignities  daily  heaped  upon  him.  But  the 
facts,  as  somewhat  dimly  remembered,  altogether 
forbid.  Of  all  the  old  man's  troubles,  his  daughter 
was  probably  the  greatest.  She  was  not  gaunt  and 
angular,  like  the 'other  ladies  of  Slabtown  as  a  rule; 
her  cheeks  were  like  peonies,  and  her  round  figure 
had  a  perceptible  jellyish  shaking  as  she  walked. 
She  disturbed  her  father's  slumbers  with  hoydenish 
laughter,  while  the  hours  struck  small  in  the  night 
watches,  and  while  her  many  admirers  stayed  and 
would  not  go.  She  was  a  coquette  besides,  and 
refused  to  comfort  the  paternal  heart  by  assuming 
the  hard  duties  of  a  Texan's  wife.  Sary  Grimes  was 
a  wild  girl,  possibly  not  a  bad  creature,  but,  as  it 
might  have  been  exjDressed  in  an  eastern  village, 
''liable  to  be  talked  about" — one  of  the  social  pun- 
ishments not  much  dreaded,  however,  in  the  region 
of  Fort  Concho.  There  was,  I  fear,  a  consciousness 
in  her  face  whenever  she  passed  a  man  in  the  road, 
and  it  is  equally  to  be  feared  that  her  prudent  chas- 
tity' liad  but  little  suggestion  of  snow  or  crystal  in  it. 
But  as  the  belle  of  Slabtown,  she  reigned  supreme; 
and,  of  course,  the  greater  part  of  her  female  friends 


318  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

cast  aspersions  upon  her.  She  kept  all  her  admirers 
in  a  state  of  mind  which  had  in  it  much  torment, 
with  occasional  glimpses  of  beatitude.  Charles 
Hanks,  Esq.,  stage  driver,  started  out  upon  his  trip 
with  a  large  fortune  of  happy  thoughts,  and  dis- 
cussed the  object  nearest  his  heart  with  the  box-pas- 
senger for  twenty  miles  at  once.  But  when  he 
returned,  Sary  would  no  more  speak  to  him  than  if, 
as  he  complained,  he  "had  been  a  yaller  dog." 
But  Mr.  Hanks  had  no  special  cause  of  complaint, 
for  he  fared  as  all  his  contemporaneous  rivals  did. 

Father  Grimes's  reputation  was  that  he  was 
"alius  good  to  that  gal  o'  his'n."  He  was  never 
known  on  any  occasion  to  use  a  petulant  expression 
to  any  person  or  thing.  His  peculiarity  more  often 
remarked  than  any  other  was  that  he  did  not  swear. 
It  was  a  wonder  he  did  not,  for  nobody  doubted  that 
he  had  a  hard  life  of  it.  With  regard  to  Grimes,  the 
half  has  not  been  told.  We  have  seen  men  who  had 
survived  some  great  disaster,  some  horrible  man- 
gling, and  went  crawling  through  life  thereafter, 
lame,  scarred,  deformed,  the  hideous  semblance  of  a 
human  creature.  Such  was  this  poor,  rich  old  man. 
His  limbs  were  drawn  awry.  His  shapeless  hands 
almost  refused  to  grasp  his  staif,  and  every  line  of 
his  face  denoted  an  experience  of  pain,  happily  past 
for  the  time,  but  ever  leaving  a  grim  promise  to 
return  and  wring  the  distorted  limbs  anew,  until  the 
hour  of  his  relief.  Yet  Grimes  had  not  been  the  vic- 
tim of  any  sudden  accident  or  great  calamity.  Fire, 
nor  falling  walls,  nor  the  rebellion  of  man's  gigantic 
servant  against  his  master  in  rushing  steam  and  fall- 


A  LONESOME  CHRISTIAN.  319 

ing  fragments,  were  incidents  in  his  hard  life.  And 
yet  his  fate  had  been  little  better.  His  days  had 
been  days  of  pain,  and  his  nights  had  been  spent  in 
torture,  and  in  waiting  and  praying  for  daylight  or 
death.  '^It  is  common  enough,  but  Ariel,  bright 
spirit  of  enchanted  air,  suffered  and  groaned  no  more 
in  the  cloven  pine  than  a  strong  man  may  beneath 
rheumatic  torture. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  old  man's  gentleness  was  a 
marvel  to  those  who  reviled  him  daily.  Worn  and 
deformed  with  his  battle  of  years  with  his  enemy, 
he  sat  at  his  cabin  door  in  the  sun,  and  placidly 
nodded  at  those  who  passed  by,  and  whispered  to 
himself,  and  smiled.  Sometimes  he  had  been  asked 
if  it  had  not  hurt  him  while  in  slow  torment  his 
limbs  had  been  twisted  and  drawn  thus.  "Oh  yes," 
lie  said,  "it  did  hurt,"  but  he  smiled  as  he  thus 
answered  a  question  which  would  have  been  both 
superfluous  and  cruel  if  the  old  man  had  not  seemed 
to  possess  some  panacea  that  enabled  him  to  almost 
defy  pain. 

This  distorted  figure,  this  pain-written  face,  and 
these  strange  ways.  Father  Grimes  possessed  alone. 
They  were  strange  in  the  land,  for  sturdy,  bearded 
manhood,  reckless  ways,  loud  words  and  a  blood- 
curdling blasphemy  were  the  rule  with  his  associates 
and  near  neighbors.  While  they  knew  that  he  had 
within  him  something  which  they  neither  possesed 
nor  understood,  they  only  said  "  curus  creetur," 
and  passed  on.  Whatever  it  was  they  had  no 
respect  for  it ;  they  thought  him  a  little  crazy.  He 
had  done  strange  things  that  they  knew  of.     Had 


320  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

he  not  once  tried  to  interfere  with  a  very  promising 
horse-race  on  a  Sunday?  Did  he  not  come  down  to 
the  trader's  store  one  night  last  fall,  and  lift  up  his 
quavering  voice  in  a  Methodist  hymn,  and  try  to  get 
up  a  prayer-meeting  right  there  among  the  boj^s, 
"and  a  hundred  dollars  in  the  pot,  and  me  with 
three  queens  in  my  hand?  "  It  was  Charles  Hanks, 
Esq.,  who  described  this  scene,  and  added,  "He's 
a  old  fool  with  a  stavin'  purty  gal ;  'twas  just  that 
wicli  saved  his  meat,  —  a  interferin'  thataway." 

It  was  not  strange  that,  with  these  queer  ways. 
Father  Grimes  was  alone  in  such  a  place,  with  only, 
his  heart  to  keep  him  company.  There  was  a  chap- 
lain at  the  post,  but  he  seemed  as  yet  to  have  dis- 
covered no  affinity  for  this  eccentric  old  man.  He 
preferred  soldiers  of  the  cross  of  more  robust  ten- 
dencies, and  in  line.  If  being  a  Christian  was  what 
was  the  matter  with  Grimes's  dazed  head,  he  had 
an  entire  monopoly  of  the  complaint.  On  bright 
Sunday  mornings  there  was  a  formal  service  on  the 
parade  ground,  and  plumed  heads  bowed  slightly 
in  the  etiquette  of  military  devotion.  But  Father 
Grimes  was  as  much  out  of  place  there  as  he  was  at 
the  sutler's,  and  stood  afar  off,  failing  to  under- 
stand, perhaps,  what  all  this  had  in  common  with 
a  camp-meeting  in  far  western  Virginia,  or  with  such 
*piety  and  worship  as  would  have  been  acceptable  to 
his  fellow-believers  of  the  United  Brethren  in  Christ. 

Of  course  he  had  little  control  of  the  hoydenish 
Sary.  That  young  woman  shared  somewhat  in  the 
current  belief  regarding  her  father's  mental  condi- 
tion.    Living  in  the  same  house,  tliey  had  no  com- 


A   L0NES03IE  CHRISTIAN.  321 

paniont  lip ;  and  while  slie  cared  for  his  common 
wants  and  daily  meals,  that  was  the  extent,  to  all 
appearance,  of  her  interest  in  him.  He  perhaps 
constituted  the  sober  side  of  her  life ;  she  would 
have  been  ready  to  do  battle  for  him  with  a  ready 
tongue,  but  she  also  claimed  the  privelege  of  pri- 
vately regarding  him  with  as  much  carelessness  and 
half-contempt  as  was  possible  with  her  knowledge 
of  the  fact  that  he  really  was  her  father  and  she 
could  not  help  it. 

The  incident  which  placed  Father  Grimes  promi- 
nently before  the  public  in  a  new  light  —  an  incident 
all  the  more  remarkable  because  it  was  the  last  in 
his  career — came  about  in  this  wise.  There  came 
to  Concho  a  long-haired  and  ambrosial  man,  who 
claimed  to  have  been  one  of  those  hard  riders  from 
the  Lone-Star  state,  who  figured  so  extensivelj^  in 
the  cavalry  force  of  the  late  Confederate  army.  He 
was  broad-shouldered,  tall,  swaggering,  of  a  military 
carriage,  and  claimed  to  be  ''still  a  rebel  and  a 
fighting  man,  sir."  Kow  Hanks  was  not  just  a 
Yankee,  but  he  and  this  child  of  chivalry  soon  found 
means  of  disagreement  upon  another  matter.  The 
Confederate  used  often  to  say  that  he  did  not  care  a 
profane  expletive  for  Miss  Grimes,  but  he  made  it  a 
point  to  allow  no  man  to  stand  before  him  in  the 
graces  of  a  livin'  woman,  sir.  So,  in  a  few  weeks, 
Hanks  and  he  looked  askance  at  each  other,  and 
finally  refused  to  play  poker  at  the  same  table,  and 
avoided  a  mutuality  in  bibulous  exercises  by  com- 
mon consent.  The  wicked  Sary,  gifted  with  peculiar 
insight  into  such  matters,  flattered  the  new  beau, 
21 


322  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

and  smiled  upon  him  with  beams  particularly 
bright ;  albeit,  she  disdded  her  favors,  and  gave 
Hanks  enough  to  keep  him  alive  to  the  stature  and 
strength  of  his  rival,  and  the  dangers  arising  from 
delay  and  absence.  These  things  did  not  pass 
unnoticed  by  the  others,  and  a  keen  look-out  was 
kept  for  the  hour  when  the  difficulty  should  cul- 
minate. The  patient  sitters  upon  benches  and  the 
industrious  carvers  of  deal  boxes  kept  the  two  men 
in  sight,  and  watched  them  with  an  eye  to  being 
present  when  the  time  came.  They  discussed  the 
chances  among  themselves,  much  as  they  discussed 
the  projected  race  for  three  hundred  yards  between 
Hopkins's  bald-face  and  the  spotted  pony.  They 
knew  Hanks,  and  generally  considered  him  the  bet- 
ter man.  There  was  a  slight  inclination  to  preju- 
dice against  the  Confederate,  perhaps.  "He's  full 
o'  brag,"  they  remarked  ;  "hain't  seen  his  grit  yet." 
One  night  Father  Grimes  sat  in  the  inner  room 
of  his  poor  house.  The  cotton  cloth  that  did  duty 
as  glass,  puiFed  in  and  out  in  the  window  frame, 
and  the  "grease-dip"  burned  yellow  and  dim  on 
the  edge  of  its  broken  cup.  There  was  the  usual 
chatter  and  coarse  laughter  in  the  outer  room,  and 
he  knew  that  the  Confederate  and  Sary  were  there. 
This  gallant  gentleman  was  in  his  best  mood  that 
night,  and  the  laughter  of  the  girl,  and  the  man's 
tone  of  light  raillery,  reached  Grimes's  wakeful  ears 
with  annoying  distinctness.  The  old  man  sat  in  his 
bent  posture  near  the  light,  and  studied  out  the 
words  of  a  big  worn  volume  upon  his  knee.  His 
grizzled  hair  lay  in  tangled  confusion  upon  his  neck, 


J.  LONESOME  CHRISTIAN.  323 

and  as  he  stumbled  through  the  sentences  he  spelled 
and  whispered  the  words  to  himself.  The  night  was 
his  enemy  and  torment.  He  was  passing  the  dull 
time  of  age  and  affliction,  and,  withal,  gathering 
comfort  from  the  only  book  he  possessed  or  needed. 
It  was  no  common  book  he  pored  over  and  spelled; 
it  is  said  to  have  been  the  Bible. 

Presently  the  outer  door  opened,  and  with  a  gruif 
salutation  Hanks  entered.  His  arrival  from  his  last 
drive  could  not  have  been  more  than  an  hour  ago. 
He  had  not  wasted  time  in  paying  his  respects.  He 
sat  down  at  the  rude  table,  and  looked  at  Sary  and 
her  companion.  That  Hanks  was  in  an  ugly  humor 
was  quite  evident.  It  was  equally  evident  that  he 
was  bent  upon  the  operation  known  among  his  kind 
as  ''pickin'  a  fuss."  He  did  not  attempt  to  conceal 
his  feelings,  and  glowered  at  his  rival,  and  still  sat 
silent.  The  dark  purpose  of  the  border  rowdy  was 
in  his  eye  and  the  jealousy  and  anger  of  all  his  law- 
less kind  was  apparent  in  the  studied  deliberateness 
of  all  his  actions.  The  other  looked  at  him  with  a 
cool  grin  of  defiance.  At  a  meeting  of  this  kind,  two 
such  men  have  little  need  of  tongues. 

Presently  the  late-comer  rose  slowly,  and  moved 
his  chair,  and  sat  down  almost  in  front  of  his  rival. 
The  old  man  in  the  inner  room  heard  the  movement, 
and  started  and  listened,  closing  his  book.  Having  , 
thus  changed  his  position.  Hanks  placed  his  hands 
upon  his  knees,  looked  his  rival  obtrusively  in  the 
face,  and  calmly  remarked:  '  vAcxoh  libnwpj^ 

"I  shouldn't  wonder.  Mister,  ef  I  thought  you 
was  a  low  down  kind  of  a  cuss." 


324  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCHES. 

''What?  "  exclaimed  the  Confederate. 

''I  saj — are  ye  list'nin'?  —  that  I  shouldn't  won- 
der ef  I  thought  you  was  a  low  down  sneakin'  —  " 

The  Confederate  gentleman  arose,  motioned  to 
Hanks,  and  moved  toward  the  door.  They  both 
went  out,  moved  a  little  way  along  the  wall  toward 
the  old  man's  flapping  window,  and  stopped. 

"I  don't  do  my  fightin'  in  the  presence  o'  wim- 
men,"  said  the  Confederate,  "but  I'm  a  fightin' 
man,  an'  ye  kin  hev  all  ye' re  spilin'  for.  There's 
no  use  in  bein'  in  a  ungentlemanly  hurry  about  this 
'ere  little  diffikilty  ;  to-morrer  mornin',  —  break  o' 
day,  sharp,  at  the  sand-bar  beyant  Stokes's,  '11  suit 
me,  Qiyou  kin  stand  it." 

"  Wot's  yer  weepins,"  said  the  other. 

''Xavy  size — ten  paces." 

''Seconds?" 

"ISTary  man." 

''I'll  be  thar ;"  and  Old  Grimes  heard  the  foot- 
steps die  away  in  opposite  directions. 

He  hobbled  into  the  room  where  his  daughter 
sat.  Her  pinky  cheeks  were  a  little  paler,  and  there 
was  an  unwonted  apprehension  in  her  eyes.  "  Sary," 
he  said,  "kin  ye  do  nothin'  to  keep  them  two  young 
fellers  apart  ? " 

"No,  they're  two  fools,  an'  it's  none  of  my 
afi'air." 

"  Did  ye  hear  what  they  said  outside  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  heard  ;  I  was  list'nin';  they  kin  fight  it 
out.     There's  better  men  than  either  of  'em." 

Grimes  turned  and  went  back  to  his  little  bare 
room  —  the  little  bare  and  shabby  place  where  the 


A  LONESOME  CHRISTIAN.  325 

company  who  came  and  sat  with  him  were  not 
inhabitants  of  Slabtown, —  and  seated  himself  upon 
the  bed,  and  communed  with  himself.  It  is  a 
strange  life,  and  a  wonderful  education,  that  can 
teach  a  red-cheeked  and  hoydenish  girl  to  smile  at 
the  passions  that  lead  to  the  grim  revenges  of  the 
border.  The  old  man  sat  and  thought,  and  the 
hours  passed  slowly.  He  lay  down  upon  the  rude 
bed,  and  perhaps  would  have  slept  if  he  could. 
Then  he  rose  and  occupied  himself  in  reading  again, 
and  went  out  often  and  looked  into  the  shadows  of 
the  still  night.  Only  the  far  guard-challenge  fell 
upQu  his  ear  at  intervals,  and  seemed  to  announce 
the  passing  hours.  Finally  the  ripe  stars  that  glow 
in  the  noon  of  night  began  to  pale  in  their  westward 
setting.  The  cocks  crew,  and  the  lowing  of  kine 
was  borne  far  upon  the  damp  morning  air.  The  day 
was  coming,  and  even  these  far  fields  of  solitude 
and  desolation  began  to  be  stirred  by  a  feeble  pulse 
of  life. 

No  soul,  save  these  two  men,  a  thoughtless 
woman,  and  an  old  man  almost  helpless,  knew  of 
the  meeting  on  the  sands,  from  which  but  one,  and 
probably  neither,  would  ever  return.  Father  Grimes 
got  his  hat  and  staiF,  and  hobbled  forth.  He 
thought  he  knew  the  spot,  he  would  go  thither.  It 
was  such  a  journey  as  he  had  not  made  for  many  a 
day.  He  wondered  if  he  would  be  there  in  time, 
and  hastened. 

The  chill  air  of  dawn  pierced  his  frail  body,  and 
he  shivered.  Painfully,  and  all  too  slowly,  he 
walked  the  stepping-stones  across  the  puny  torrent, 


326  FRONTIER  AMMY  SKETCHES. 

and  toiled  up  the  bank  upon  the  other  side.  He 
saw  the  gray  streaks  in  the  east,  and  hastened, 
groaning,  for  he  remembered  the  words  ' '  at  break 
o'  day,  sharp."  His  journey  was  a  pathless  one, 
cactus-grown  and  tangled  with  long  grass.  Finally 
he  reached  the  crest  of  the  low  bluffs,  and  the  little 
acre  of  brown  sand  lay  before  him  in  the  growing 
light.  Peering  with  his  old  eyes,  he  discovered  two 
figures  there.  One  of  them  stood  listless,  while  the 
other  paced  slowly  across  a  little  space ;  then  his 
companion  measured  the  space  likewise,  in  long  and 
swinging  strides.  As  the  old  man  drew  nearer,  he 
saw  that  the  two  took  opposite  places,  and  that 
while  one  leaned  forward  anxiously,  the  other's  atti- 
tude was  careless  and  his  weapon  hand  hung  by  his 
side.  He  shouted  with  the  utmost  strength  of  his 
old  wiry  voice,  and  they  seemed  to  pay  no  heed. 
Then,  and  for  the  first  time  in  ten  years,  he  tried  to 
run.  As  he  drew  closer,  he  saw  that  Hanks  was 
nearest  to  him,  and  almost  between  him  and  the  tall 
Confederate.  Then  one  said  '-'- Ready ^'''^  and  his 
adversary  answered  "Ready."  But  Grimes  noticed 
that  Hanks  held  his  weapon  in  readiness  to  fire, 
while  the  other  brought  his  slowly  up  from  his  side. 
The  thought  must  have  passed  through  his  mind 
like  a  flash;  "If  I  could  but  push  one  of  them 
aside,  I  could  save  them."  But  already  they  had 
begun  to  count,  slowly  and  simultaneously  :  '-^  one — 
two — "and  at  the  word  ^Htoo^^-  Hanks  dropped 
suddenly  in  his  place,  and  two  shots  awoke  the 
silence  almost  together.  The  tall  Confederate  stood 
still  a  moment,  then  staggered,  and  fell  backward, 


A  LONESOME  CHRISTIAN.  327 


while  a  crimson  stream  trickled  slowly  out  upon  the 
brown  sand,  and  sank,  leaving  the  stain  of  murder 
beside  his  stark  figure,  as  he  lay,  with  open,  staring 
dead  eyes,  looking  at  the  glowing  sky. 

Hanks  had  dropped  suddenly  in  his  place,  and 
liad  fired  before  the  word.  It  was  the  trick  that 
almost  disgraces  the  Comanche  from  whom  he  had 
in  a  manner  acquired  it.  He  now  rose  up  and 
looked  around  him  furtively.  In  the  sunshine  of 
high  noon  it  was  a  dreary  and  silent  spot ;  and  now 
in  the  purple  morning,  with  the  dead  man  lying  as 
he  had  fallen,  with  the  brown  sand,  and  the  sage, 
and  the  gaunt  and  thorny  cactus  on  every  hand. 
Hanks  seemed  to  shiver,  as  he  buttoned  his  coat,  and 
looked  nervously  about  him,  and  stood  a  moment 
thinking.  Then,  by  chance  or  through  fear,  he  cast 
a  glance  behind  him,  and  saw  Father  Grimes  sunk 
down  in  a  heap  with  his  head  fallen  forward  upon 
his  bosom.  Perhaps  he  thought  the  old  man  dead  ; 
—  at  least  he  had  caught  the  bullet  meant  for  him- 
self. He  hesitated  a  moment,  looked  around  the 
horizon,  and  then  moved  by  sudden  fear,  walked 
rapidly  away  through  tlie  stunted  trees  beyond  the 
sand.  This  tale  chronicles  no  further  the  wander- 
ings of  the  assassin  :    he  never  returned. 

Father  Grimes  slowly  raised  his  head  by  and  by, 
pressed  his  hand  to  liis  side,  and  tried  to  rise.  After 
a  while  they  came  and  bore  him  to  his  cabin,  and 
placed  him  upon  his  bed.  For  ill  news  travels 
quickly,  and  the  curiosity  of  the  hard  community 
had  quickly  hurried  a  crowd  to  the  spot.  While  he 
lay  quietly  and  looked   upward    through  the  cabin 


328  FRONTIER  ARMY  SKETCEES. 

roof,  calm  and  placid,  the  post  surgeon  came,  and 
the  commandant,  and  even  the  chaplain,  and  the 
crowd  gathered  at  the  outer  door,  only  parting  to 
permit  the  passage  of  another  burden  that  was  borne 
there  by  chance  or  a  fancied  connection  with  Grimes 
and  his  daughter,  and  laid  upon  a  low  bench  beside 
the  wall,  crying  murder  through  the  hush  with  its 
white,  uncovered  face. 

They  questioned  the  old  man,  and  brokenly  and 
at  intervals  he  told  them  all  he  knew.  !N'o,  not  all ; 
for  his  mind  seemed  preoccupied,  and  at  intervals 
he  stopped  and  lay  very  quiet,  looking  at  something 
they  could  not  see,  and  smiling  as  he  feebly  held 
out  his  hand.  His  care-worn  and  pain-burdened 
life  was  passing  fast.  That  they  knew,  and  were 
awed  in  the  presence  of  that  Death  so  many  of 
them  had  courted,  so  many  had  pretended  to 
scorn.  They  watched  him,  and  waited  to  hear  if  he 
had  aught  else  to  tell.  A  little  while  passed  in 
silence.  Suddenly  he  opened  his  eyes  again,  and 
looked  intently  toward  a  corner  of  the  room.  It 
was  not  a  look  of  scrutiny,  doubt,  or  inquir}',  but  of 
happy  certainty  and  surprise.  A  faint  flush  stole 
into  the  pallor  of  his  old  face  ;  his  eye  brightened, 
and  he  stretched  forth  his  hand  and  tried  to  lift  him- 
self upon  his  arm.  The  doctor  bent  over  him  (the 
chaplain  was  gone  home  again),  and  asked  him  what 
he  would  have.  The  old  man  turned  with  a  look  of 
surprise,  and  pointed  with  his  finger. 

"  Don't  you  see  Him  ?  "  he  said. 

**  I  see  no  one  ;  — what  is  he  like  ?  " 

'*I  —  I  don't   know.     His   face   shines,  and   He 


A  LONESOME  CHRISTIAN.  329 

smiles.  It  is  like  Him  as  He  walked  upon  the  sea. 
.  .  .  .  Oh,  Master,  liave  you  come  so  far  for 
mef' 

And  death  sealed  upon  the  scarred  and  wrinkled 
fiice  its  last  beatitude.  They  went  out  and  left  him 
there,  and  closed  the  door.  And  as  they  passed 
through  the  outer  chamber,  they  saw  the  girl  as  she 
sat  by  the  bench  beside  the  wall,  and  looked  with 
tearless  eyes  afar  off,  and  held  in  her  lap  her  dead 
lover's  cold  right  hand. 


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MARIE:    A  story  of  Russian  love. 

By  ALEX.  PUSHKIN. 

MADELEINE ;  a  story  of  French  love 

By  JULES  SANDEAU. 


In  neat  box,  per  set,        .....        Price,  $5.00. 
Sold  separately,  per  volume,  ,  ,  ,  Price,  $1.25. 


Of  "Memories'  the  London  Academy  says:  "It  is  a  prose  poem. 
•  *  *  It  is  seldom  that  a  powerful  intellect  produces  any 

work,  however  small,  that  does  not  bear  some  marks  of  its  special  bent, 
and  the  traces  of  research  and  philosophy  in  this  little  story  are  appar- 
ent, while  its  beauty  and  pathos  show  us  a  fresh  phase  of  a  many-sided 
mind,  to  which  we  already  owe  large  debts  of  gratitude." 

Of"  Graziella"  the  Chicago  Tribune  says:  "It  glows  with  love  of  the 
beautiful  in  all  nature.  *  *  *  It  is  pure  literature,  a 

perfect  story,  couched  in  perfect  words.  The  sentences  have  the  rhytlim 
and  flow,  the  sweetness  and  tender  fancy  of  the  original.  It  is  uniform 
with  '  Memories,' and  it  should  stand  side  by  side  with  that  on  the 
shelves  of  every  lover  of  pTlre,  strong  thoughts,  put  in  pure,  strong 
words.    '  Graziella'  is  a  book  to  be  loved." 

Of"  Marie"  the  Cincinnati  Gazette  says:  "  This  is  a  Russian  love  tale, 
written  by  a  Russian  poet.  It  is  one  of  the  purest,  sweetest  little  narra- 
tives that  we  have  read  for  a  long  time.  It  is  a  little  classic,  and  a  Russian 
classic,  too.  That  is  one  of  its  charms,  that  it  is  so  distinctively  Russian. 
We  catch  the  very  breezes  of  the  Steppes,  and  meet,  lace  to  face,  the  high- 
Bouled,  simple  minded  Russian." 

Of  "Madeleine"  the  New  York  Evening  Telegram  says:  "More  than 
thirty  years  ago  it  received  the  honor  of  a  prize  from  the  French 
Academy  and  has  since  almost  befome  a  French  classic.  It  abounds 
boih  in  pathos  and  wit.  Above  all.  it  is  a  pure  story,  dealing  with  love 
of  the  most  exalted  kind.  It  is,  indeed,  a  wonder  that  a  tale  so  fresh,  so 
Eweet,  so  pure  as  this  has  uot  sooner  been  introduced  to  the  English- 
speaking  public." 

Sold  "by  hool'sellers,  or  mailed,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  hy 
JANSEN,   McCLURG    &    CO.,   Publishers,  Cliicagro,   m. 


li  ought  to  be  in  the  hands  of  every  scholar  and  of  every  school- 
boy."— Saturday  Review ,  London. 


Tales  of  Ancient  Greece. 

By  tub  rev.  sir  G.  W.  COX,  Bart.,  M.A., 

Trinity  College,  Oxford. 


12mo.,  extra  cloth,  black  and  giVf        .  .  .        Price,  $1.50, 


"  Written  apparently  for  young  readers,  it  yet  possesses  a  charm  of 
manner  which  will  recommend  it  to  all."— T/ie  Examiner,  London. 

"  It  is  only  when  we  take  up  such  a  book  as  this,  that  we  realize  how 
rich  in  interest  is  the  mythology  of  Greece."— Liquirer,  Philadelphia. 

"Admirable  in  style,  and  level  with  a  child's  comprehension.  These 
versions  might  well  find  a  place  in  every  family."— T/ig  Nation,  Aew  York. 

"The  author  invests  these  stories  with  a  charm  of  narrative  entirely 
peculiar.    The  book  is  a  rich  one  in  every  way."— ^tondard,  Chicago. 

"In  Mr.  Cox  will  be  found  yet  another  name  to  be  enrolled  among 
those  English  writers  who  have  vindicated  for  this  country  an  honorable 
rank  in  the  investigation  of  Greek  history."— Edinburgh  Review. 

"  It  is  doubtful  if  these  tales,  antedating  history  in  their  origin,  and  yet 
fresh  with  all  the  charms  of  youth  to  all  who  read  them  for  the  first  time, 
were  ever  before  presented  in  so  chaste  and  popular  ioim."— Golden  Rule, 
Boston. 

"  The  grace  with  which  these  old  tales  of  the  mythology  are  re-told 
makes  them  as  enchanting  to  the  young  as  familiar  fairy  tales,  or  the 
'  Arabian  Nights."  *  *  *  We  do  not  know  of  a  Christmas  book  which 
promises  more  lasting  pleasures."— Pii6iis/ter«'  Weekly. 

"  Its  exterior  fits  it  to  adorn  the  drawing-room  table,  while  its  contents 
are  adapted  to  the  entertainment  of  the  most  cultivated  intelliL^ence.    * 

*  *  The  book  is  a  scholarly  production,  and  a  welcome  addition  to  a 
department  of  literature  that  is  thus  far  quite  too  scantily  furnished."— 
Tribune,  Chicago. 

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JANSEN,    McCLURG   &   CO.,    Publishers,    Chicago,    111. 


SHORT  HISTORY  OF  FRANCE, 

FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

By  miss  E.  S.  KIRKLAND. 
authob  of  "  six  little  cooks,"  "  doha's  housekeeping,"  kml 


12fno.,  extra  clot  ft,  blacJs  and  gilt,  ,  .  Price,  $1.50. 


"A  very  ably  written  sketch  of  French  history,  from  the  earliest  times 
to  the  foundation  of  the  existing  Republic."— Otncmna^i  Gazdte. 

"  The  narrative  is  not  dry  on  a  single  page,  and  the  little  history  may 
be  commended  as  the  best  of  its  kind  that  nas  yet  appeared."— SuMcttn, 
PhUadelphia. 

"A  book  both  instructive  and  entertaining.  It  is  not  a  dry  compen- 
dium of  dates  and  facts,  but  a  charmingly  written  history."— C/msfian 
Vhion,  New  York. 

"After  a  careful  examination  of  its  contents,  we  are  able  to  conscien- 
tiously give  it  our  heartiest  commendation.  We  know  no  elementary 
history  of  France  that  can  at  all  be  compared  with  it."— Living  Church. 

"A  spirited  and  enterlaining  sketch  of  the  French  people  and  nation 
—one  that  will  seize  and  hold  the  attention  of  all  bright  boys  and  girls 
who  have  a  chance  to  read  iV— Sunday  Afternoon,  i-pringfield,  (Mass.) 

"  We  find  its  descriptions  universally  good,  that  it  is  admirably  sitnple 
and  direct  in  style,  without  waste  of  words  or  timidity  of  opinion.  The 
book  represents  a  great  deal  of  patient  labor  and  conscientious  study.  — 
Courant,  Hartford,  Ct. 

"  Miss  Kirkland  has  composed  her  '  Short  History  of  France'  in  the 
way  in  which  a  history  for  young  people  ought  to  be  written ;  that  is,  she 
has  aimed  to  present  a  consecutive  and  agreeable  story,  Irom  which  the 
reader  can  not  only  learn  the  names  of  kings  and  the  succession  of 
events,  but  can  also  receive  a  vivid  and  permanent  impression  as  to  the 
characters,  modes  of  life,  and  the  spirit  of  different  periods."— 27<« 
Aaiion,  N.  Y.  ' 

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JANST^IN,  McCLURG   k   CO.,  Publishers,    Chicago,  II!. 


'Unequalled  by  anything  of   the  kind  with  which   we  are   aC' 
quainted." — Christian  Advocate,  N.  Y. 


CUMNOCK'S   CHOICE    HEADINGS. 

FOR     PURLIC   AND    PRIVATE     ENTERTAINMENT.      ARRANGED    FOR   THE 
EXERCISES    OF   THE   SCUOOL  AND    COLLEGE  AND   PUBLIC   READER, 
WITH      ELOCDTIONARY      ADVICE.         EDITED     BY      ROBERT 
MC'LAIN     CUMNOCK,      A.      M.,     PROFESSOR     OF 
RHETORIC   AND    ELOCUTION,  NORTH- 
WESTERN   UNIVERSITY. 


Itarge  12mo.,  cloth,  .....  Price,  $1.75. 


"  It  ought  to  become  a  special  favorite  among  school  and  college 
students  and  public  readers." — Evening  Post,  New  York. 

"  Taking  into  account  the  admirable  type,  the  excellent  taste,  the 
brevity  of  the  rhetorical  counsels,  the  unsurpassed  variety,  we  prefer 
Prof.  Cumnock's  book  to  every  manual  of  the  kind."— CAmiian  Register, 
Boston. 

"Among  the  multitude  of  books  Issued  for  the  same  purpose  during 
the  past  ten  years,  we  know  of  none  so  complete  in  all  respects  and  so 
well  titled  to  the  needs  of  the  elocutionist  as  the  volume  before  us."— 
Transcript,  Boston. 

"  No  choicer  casket  of  prose  and  poetry  has  been  given  to  us  by  any 
otlier  author.  These  are  the  culled  flowers  from  the  bouquet  of  litera- 
ture. They  are  of  every  nature  known  to  the  language,  and  each  is  of 
tho  best  of  its  kind."— TAc  Post,  San  Francisco. 

"  Nearly  200  selections  from  the  best  prose  and  poetical  literature  of 
the  English  language  are  here  assembled  for  the  uses  of  the  student  of 
elocution.  »  *  *  Tjie  collection  is  valuable  as  a  tre^isury  of 
literary  gems,  apart  from  its  worth  as  a  manual  of  declamation."- 
Tribune,  Chicago. 

"The  volume  consists  in  a  great  measure  of  fresh  specimens  that 
have  recently  found  their  way  into  current  literature,  and  present  the 
charm  of  novelty  with  the  merit  of  good  writing.  The  ancient  stream  is 
thus  enriched  with  supplies  from  new  fountains,  and  living  productions 
take  the  place  of  the  veteran  pieces  which  have  grown  old  in  the  course 
of  protracted  service.  *  •  ♦  They  are  illustrations  of  the  best 
literature  of  the  day."— IW&anc,  New  York. 

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JINSEN,  McCLUEG    &    CO.,    Publishers,   Chica§ro,   Bll. 


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